The Firebolt Ring Series
by Sare Liz
Summary: A perspective on the fourth book that has little to do with the tournament. HG/VK.
1. Passing Notes

**Title**: Passing Notes  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Pairing**: HG/VK  
**Series**: Firebolt Ring  
**Disclaimer**: These characters belong to JKR, and other associated sundry corporate ones.  
**Warning**: Rated PG-13 for some double entendre and flutterings in the stomach. It's strangely contiguous with both GoF book and movie (does this count for the heresy of syncretism?). And yet, this is possibly OOC for Viktor. Not that we have a heck of a lot to go on, but I'm betting there's more than one story behind his glowering façade.  
**Notes**: So, this is my first sojourn in this fandom. I'm so very excited. And I have no beta, yet. Perhaps this will become very clear to you as you read on. If anyone is willing to take on that heinous task, let me know.

--

Languages were horrible things. This was especially true if you were nervous and trying to start a conversation with a pretty girl. Conversations that didn't occur in Bulgarian were particularly bad. Even in Bulgarian, though, it would be very difficult. That is why, in Viktor's opinion, languages were horrible things. And spoken language was the worst.

This is why, after three days of lurking, he decided a new strategy. There was more than one way to catch the snitch, after all.

_Meet me by Muggle Studies?_

The scrap of parchment floated down onto her book as he passed by her table, ostensibly going into the stacks to look for something. He'd tested this out before. If he didn't linger too long, the ones who trailed him didn't get too bold.

She found him crouched down in the nook, next to but not on the squashy chair that occupied most of the space between the bookshelves. He was fingering a likely looking book. He'd never heard of the author, but the title looked promising. _Pride and Prejudice._

"Um, hi," she whispered tentatively, looking uncertain.

He smiled in response. She came. She actually came. His heart nearly skipped a beat.

Viktor indicated the chair he was next to and whispered, "Vill you sit?"

Her blush was cute, and rather encouraging. When she sat, he came out of his crouch and kneeled down, sitting back on his heels.

"Ve don't haff much time," he whispered, to start.

Her expression asked her question, and he nodded in the direction they'd both come. "The other girls," he whispered. "They are a little crazy. They vill come to find me, if I take too long. I do not vant that."

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Quiet?" he asked softly, a bit of a wistful look on his face.

"Good luck," she responded, smirking.

"Not so hard, sometimes, but harder here, in the Library. They alvays find me before I get here."

"Where don't they find you?" she inquired, seeming to be genuinely interested.

"The ship. The quidditch pitch. The forest. Sometimes before lunch, or dinner they are not around, and never in the effening." It had only taken the moonstruck girls two days to learn his schedule. He'd lost the bet. Viktor didn't think it could happen in under two weeks – oh, how wrong he'd been.

"Oh," she said. The quiet that followed was filled with Viktor Marshalling His Nerve.

"Does not alvays mean being alone, this Quiet I hope for."

"Oh?"

"No. I… Vould you go flying vith me?" God, he was desperate to impress her. He had no idea why. And flying? It really was his ace card, and maybe his only card. Was it the right place to start? …But her face was draining of color. This was not good, not good at all.

"I, um. I don't fly. Er, that is, I don't fly well…"

"Oh," he said, looking around, stunned. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. "I…"

"Yes," she said suddenly, definitively, and rather loudly. "When?"

Viktor was a little disoriented, but got his bearings quickly enough. His grin was threatening to take over his entire face. "Tomorrow? In effening? Ve fly tandem, you need no skill. Is okay."

She was smiling shyly now. "Alright. Where?"

"Em…" He was trying to think of a place that wouldn't invite instant scrutiny. "Betveen stone cabin and forest? Do you know the place I intend?"

"Behind Hagrid's hut? Yes, by the pumpkins."

"Yes, there. At eight? Can you come at eight?"

She nodded, and a strand of her hair came loose from where she'd secured it at the back of her head, sliding forward only to have her tuck it behind an ear. "I have to be back in the castle by nine to make curfew."

It felt like he was already flying.

--

Tomorrow had very quickly become today, and today's tomorrow was _the_ day, the day they would find out who the champions were to be. If he won tomorrow, it would mean that much more leverage with Karkaroff. If he won today, he'd need all the leverage he could get.

She was muggleborn. He hadn't known, not that it made such a big difference, at least, not to him. Karkaroff was a different matter, though. The white-haired boy, Malfoy, had told him gleefully all the inflammatory things that could be said about her and the group she ran with. There was something familiar about that quartet – Malfoy, Hermione, and her two friends, but he couldn't place it. There was no reason they should be familiar, anyway. It was probably just his imagination.

Malfoy wasn't his imagination, however. He was, in fact, a giant pain in the ass, and about as moonstruck as the cows that followed him around when he went running. How he wished the entire contingent hadn't been assigned to the Slytherin table. Life would be so much more interesting if he were allowed to sit with the Gryffindors. He might not have to pass notes in the library.

He'd researched the rightness of the colloquial phrase, and had toyed with the idea of simply bending over her in the library and whispering in her ear, but wondered if it might not get him kicked out by the librarian. He settled on writing it, instead.

_Are we still on for tonight?_

He stalked passed her as the parchment fluttered down and wandered over to the comfortable chair, this time sinking down into it. It really was nice back here. If only it afforded a decent view of Hermione studying, it might be perfect. He crossed his legs and soon was lost in thought about exactly what he should bring for their evening, and what he might say. He'd never gone out on a date before – he'd escorted girls to balls, sure, but nothing beyond what was strictly required of him.

"You look comfortable."

Her soft voice full of irony jarred him from his musings. When he looked up, he couldn't quite tell what the expression on her face meant as she was only half looking at him, half perusing books on the shelf.

"I saw you, today. Putting your name in the goblet, I mean."

Viktor cracked his neck and uncrossed his legs, stretching them out in front of the chair.

"I saw you, too."

"I know." She looked down at the floor in front of her shoes, and he thought that perhaps she was beginning to blush again. "I mean, I think a lot of people noticed that. It was very, um, deliberate, your stare. It was like you already knew where I was in the room, and like you were trying to tell me something."

"Is true. From moment I valk into hall, I know you are there. And I do say something vith my eyes," Viktor paused, and cocked his head to the side. "But maybe I say in Bulgarian, and you do not understand?"

She giggled and ducked her head again, but Viktor found that he quite liked it when she giggled. It was a far different creature from the giggling of the cows.

"Can you not guess?"

She looked back up, bit her lip, and shook her head.

"I do not know the correct vords in English, but I vill try to explain. I look at you vhen I apply to become a champion, because of old days. In old days… in old days, a champion did not get honor for himself, or even for prince alone. There vas… another."

As he spoke, she looked up, and her eyes had gone a bit wide.

"You understand now?"

"I think so."

Just then they heard the stage whisper squeal of a discontented groupie. The pack was on the move.

Viktor sprang from the chair, but before he passed her at the shelves, he stopped. Hands lightly on her shoulders, and standing just behind her, he bent his head slightly and whispered in her ear. "Vear varm clothes, okay?"

And then he was off.

--

The library covered so many ills. _Sorry, Ron, can't play chess. Yes, I know it's only the first week in November, but I gave back the time-turner, and if I'm ever to get all this studying done, I can't become complacent now_. So long as she was back behind the portrait before the nine fifteen curfew, everything would be fine.

She'd put her hair in a plait, donned jeans and a wool jumper and stuffed her coat and muffler into her knapsack instead of books. And she'd put on just the teeniest amount of makeup. Not that he'd see, of course. It would be dark. But still.

Running quietly through the cloister, she stopped to listen for anyone before putting on her outer layer and shrinking her bag and stuffing it in her pocket. No magic in the halls, true, but according to _Hogwarts, A History_, it was only possible to tell that magic had been done in a place, not necessarily who had cast the spell. Hermione stuffed her wand back into the special pocket of her jeans before walking very calmly out into the open and beginning to make her way down to Hagrid's.

She didn't see him yet, but she might be ever so slightly early. And maybe he had hidden himself somehow, or was standing in some shadow. That was possible. He seemed quite keen on avoiding detection in the library – it probably extended out here, as well.

And then there was an odd sinking feeling in her stomach as several mental cogs all clicked into place at once. How thick was she, anyway?

The sinking feeling heralded Hermione's momentary flash of insight into her own stupidity as she walked alone, in the darkness.

She whipped out her wand as she reflected that she hadn't told anyone where she'd gone and with whom. Images from the Death Eater's post-game party flashed into her mind. She could still smell the acrid smoke of burning tents, still see the shadows flickering, teasing her that someone lurked still. She could still hear the screams of the terrified Muggles, hear herself crying out Harry's name, and having her voice bounce around the space before her, useless.

There was only a bare flicker of light at Hagrid's – probably the embers of the evening's fire, and he probably wasn't in. Would there be anyone to hear the echo of her cry this time?

Clever Hermione, oh yes. Come out to meet a handsome boy at night, but it may be the death of you.

She crouched down behind a large pumpkin and pointed her wand to her brow and chanted softly, "_Occula Nocturnis." _ Suddenly the world got much clearer. Everything was visible, save the darkest dark of the furthest shadow.

Hermione spotted him standing in the treeline, against a large spruce with a racing broom in one hand. He seemed calm, but he was squinting in her direction, as if he thought he'd seen her, but was now not certain. She quickly scanned the rest of the area to make sure he was alone. He seemed to be.

But you never knew. Holding her wand upright next to her shoulder and the pumpkin, she spun the tip in three tight circles, chanting, "_Areola Malfoy."_

Hermione scanned the area again, but the only figure who revealed an aura of bad faith was herself.

She calmed slightly, and willed her heartbeat to subside into normality. Amazing, what counted as bad faith. Maybe this meant she was overreacting.

She calmed slightly. This was probably innocent. It was probably nothing. Besides, he's Bulgarian and an athlete. _Just because your first date is completely secret, alone, and in the middle of no-where doesn't mean he's a Death Eater. It just means we're students. And he has groupies. And a really strange headmaster._

Holding her wand at her side she stood up and strode to him, keeping her ears open just in case.

Viktor stepped away from the tree and bowed deeply, low over the broom that he'd swept horizontal as he moved.

While he was still unable to see her, she realized her eyes would look strange to him, if he was able to make them out. Quickly, she whispered, "_Finite Incantatem!"_ and stuffed her wand back in her pocket. The world went dark.

"Good effening, my lady. You are vell?"

"Yes. Thank you. Um. And you?"

"It is a very good night. Let us valk this vay, so our voices to not disturb." He held out his arm to her and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Once they had walked a little ways into the line of trees, but most importantly, away from Hagrid's hut, he spoke again.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Um, sure. What do you want to know?"

"Vhy you don't fly."

It was such an innocent question, and it left Hermione switching gears she didn't know she had. This quite suddenly felt like a date again.

She glanced up at his profile, barely discernible in the low level of light. There was a little flutter in her stomach that she filed away for future pondering. That, and the fact that she was out on her first date. She would have to owl her mother tomorrow and tell her how charming he was being.

Before getting too wrapped up in her own thoughts, however, Hermione answered his question. "Oh. That. Well, the broom doesn't listen to me," she said. Thinking about the situation, Hermione began to fully relive the pathos of that first horrible incident on the broom. "And it's so awkward. I always fall off at some point. And I just… it makes me nervous."

"It is good that I am here. My broom listens to me very vell. I am not awkvard, and I vill not let you fall off. And maybe vith me, you von't be nervous?"

_Nervous? Who's nervous_, Hermione thought. _I'm getting remedial flying lessons from Viktor Krum, who is the first guy I've met who has spotted me as a girl. What's there to be nervous about? Sure, I'm not one of those inane girls that follow him around everywhere, but for goodness sake! I do know what a Wonky Feint is! It's a good thing he's adorable, really._

She half laughed and looked down at her hand on his arm. "I know you're a good flyer. I've seen you, you know? At the finals. You're very brave. I thought so at the time."

"Be happy you did not see me close up. I vas a mess, and not very happy myself."

Her laugh was genuine this time. "Oh, but I did see you close up. When the teams came to the Top Box – I was there."

"No." The disbelief was solid in his voice. What Hermione couldn't figure, was if he was being coy or not.

"Yes. You look much better, now. You look even better when you smile, though."

He stopped their progress and looked over to her. Hermione's eyes hadn't yet fully adjusted to the darkness again, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to read the look on his face in broad daylight. It did look like he wanted to say something, though. On that much she would bet cold hard galleons.

He didn't say anything, though, and she wondered if she should have brought up the finals at all. Bulgaria did lose, after all. It was probably entirely callous of her, and he was probably thinking of how much he regretted bringing her out here even now, and wondering how he could gracefully send her back to the castle –

Hermione's quickly spiraling thoughts were interrupted when he tugged at her arm to continue their walk and broke his silence, all at once.

"I do not alvays see so many things to smile about."

Hermione was certain that the sound of her swallowing echoed in the forest. "But I've seen you smile plenty of times, and you've only been here a week."

Viktor rumbled a sort of musing assent that made the hair on the back of her arms stand up. "Vhen you are around, yes, I smile. Here is good," he said, changing topics entirely.

He placed the broom in the air and it hung there, as if by command. Then he stood back and indicated it with his free arm.

"I vould like to introduce you to my Firebolt. It vill not throw you or fail to obey you. In fact, it vants to be your friend."

Hermione giggled despite herself. She gave a little half-wave to the broom hovering in front of her and said, "Hallo."

"Good. Next."

Viktor released her arm and mounted the broom. He had one leg curled up beneath him in what she figured was the normal riding position for a racing broom, but one foot was firmly on the ground. His hands were on his thighs.

"Come. Here," he indicated his lap. Or possibly the broom. She wasn't certain.

"Um…" How on earth she was supposed to do this she had no idea. She'd never been picked first in gym. She'd probably fall over trying to get on the thing. It was too high, for one thing.

Viktor held his hands out to her, but when she put her hands in his, he shook his head and let go of her.

"No, no. Ve do this easy, okay? Stand here. Now, turn. Yes. Oh, I see problem."

He'd finally noticed that the broom was too high, and lowered it slightly. Then he took her hands in his and waited.

Facing the other way, she couldn't see what she was supposed to be doing. This was totally awkward – he was behind her, holding her hands. His leg was still sort of in the way. Where exactly was she supposed to sit, anyway? Literally on his lap? Well, that would be sort of interesting. In the end, she hopped up in front of him, but rather far away.

Hermione could already feel herself being supported by the magic of the broom, and not just the physical two-inch diameter of the wood handle. It was like sitting on a rather small feather mattress. Much more comfortable than the old Bluebottles and Cleansweeps that the school had for training purposes.

And then Hermione felt Viktor take her waist and slide her back toward him, until she was nestled quite snugly against his larger form. It was lovely and made her feel rather gooey inside, but it was sort of odd, too. She was sitting in his lap, but she wasn't. She was sitting on the broom. It was the magic of the broom supporting her. And yet, it was Viktor's legs that were directly below her bum. She could feel both, but Viktor was definitely the stronger force.

And then she realized that she hadn't breathed in a while, and decided to do so, letting it all out in a bit of a quavery sigh. She wasn't proud of that.

And then she could feel his lips against her ear. "Firebolt holds two, but ve must be close. Is okay?"

Hermione didn't really trust her voice at this point. She nodded instead.

"Okay. Now. Leg," he said, tapping the leg that was on top of his folded one. "Like mine."

She folded her leg like his and around his. Doing so, she found that the magic of the broom supported her in this position as well. Still, if she were riding for long, she'd probably be sore, without practice.

"Good. How do you feel?"

His lips were back to her ear, and his voice was soft.

"Strangely confidant," she remarked, not entirely certain if she was speaking of her broom riding skills or not.

"This is good, very good. Now. Hold broom vith both hands. Yes, now, bend," he said, brushing his fingers over her elbows. He then took the broom himself, just above her hold, with one of his hands. They were now effectively joined from ankle to shoulder, with upper arms thrown in for free. "You hold broom, I hold you and broom. No one falls off." He wrapped his free hand around her waist, and if she wasn't cleaved to him before, she certainly was now. "Is okay?"

She nodded again.

"And vhen ve fly, both legs like this leg," he said, flexing the bent thigh beneath hers.

"Okay." Hermione decided not to spend precious brain cells on the analysis of how very breathy she sounded.

"Ready?"

Hermione swallowed, and could have sworn she heard the echo. The moment her affirmative answer was out of her mouth, they were off.

In hindsight, they hadn't been going all that fast. At the time, however, she thought that perhaps she'd left her heart behind in the dark forest somewhere.

They skimmed along in silence ten feet off the ground, following the line of trees. At the lake, Viktor veered off and glided over the water, higher up.

Hermione whined.

"Close your eyes," he murmured in her ear, "And feel the vind on your face."

She did, and slowly felt herself relax into his embrace for the first time since he pulled her back on the broom. Hermione let her head loll off to the left and rest somewhere near his chin. His arm tightened, and after a while she felt a rhythmic pulse that resonated through the layers of wool.

His heartbeat, she marveled.

--

Viktor spread his cloak on the ground and cast a warming charm on it. He then set his Firebolt on the far edge and when he had turned around to offer her his hand to help her sit, she was already sitting down, looking up at him, smiling.

Just further evidence that his life never went according to plan.

He had no idea what happened when she passed the pumpkins, but it was quite clear that something had. She'd been backlit from the dim light of the castle, but there wasn't anyone else in the area – that much he'd checked on. Maybe she tripped. He wasn't going to ask, not if she didn't bring it up first, but he did wonder.

And then, having her on his broom… For this Viktor thanked the God of his parents and grandparents. He had no idea it was going to be like _that_. He'd had dreams like that, except with less clothing.

Which was a crazy way to think, despite what they say about English girls at home. He wanted something more than a quick tumble. He wanted to find _someone. _The sort of someone you're proud to take home and introduce to your parents. The sort of someone who sees who you are beyond what you do. The sort of someone who brings out the best in you. The sort of someone for whom you are _her_ someone, too.

Of course, he also wanted a quick tumble. Or a long series of them, with her, starting now, and pray God never ending. Oh, what a beautiful image that would be. The idea was so strong, Viktor could taste it.

He wouldn't, of course. That knowledge alone acted like cold water on his libido. Oh, but temptation was there, and her name was Hermione.

Which reminded him…

"I have request for you," he murmured in the darkness, as they sat looking out over the lake.

"Yes?"

"I teach you not to be afraid vhen flying, you teach me something also?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Oh God. She has the most delightfully suspicious look. Breathe, Viktor, breathe.

"Teach me to pronounce your name correctly."

All suspicion disappeared as she threw back her head and laughed. It was a truly joyous noise. "Sure. Which bit troubles you, Hermione or Granger?"

And now it comes to it, the really embarrassing bit.

"Granger, I haff. It is your first name I cannot create."

"Hermione?" she said, her own name slipping off her tongue. "Yes, I'm still not sure what my parents were thinking with that name. I mean, who names their children after Greek demi-gods? You have no idea what sort of teasing I got in school before Hogwarts. It was terrible. I…" she trailed off.

"Anyway. Here, I'll say it slowly. Her-my-oh-nee."

It made sense in his head. Viktor muttered to himself several times, trying to get his tongue around the word, to no avail.

She said it again, slowly, and he tried again, under his breath. And again. And yet again.

"Is no good," he said, frustrated and slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, come on," she said, touching him for the first time since they'd gotten off the broom. She wrapped her arm around his and leaned closer, into his side. His heart did a little dance. "It can't be as bad as all that."

"Is bad. Is not correct. Is not how you say."

"Try me."

Viktor was having a cross-cultural moment, he was certain. Try her? Perhaps it was his high state of hormones, but he could construe only one meaning for that phrase. And he didn't rate high the possibility that he was getting propositioned so early on in their relationship. In the end, he just asked.

"Vhat do you mean, try you?"

"I mean, just, go ahead and practice with me."

This was possibly more intimidating a prospect than realizing that she'd seen him after the finals – angry, petulant, broken, bloody, and having just lost the most important endeavor in his life. How could she respect him if he couldn't pronounce her name? She'd just laugh, and then he'd be consigned to the vapid cows and slytherin sycophants for the rest of the year.

"Viktor, it's okay," she said softly.

He looked over to her and was momentarily humbled beyond words. Viktor traced the line of her cheekbone with his eyes and breathed in.

Breathing out, he uttered her name, slowly and deliberately. It came out like rich, thick honey on his tongue.

"It's beautiful," she said with an awe he didn't fully understand. He did recognize the starry look in her eyes, however. It was the same look some of his fans got when he signed something for them. For the first time, however, it was received with joy. Still…

"Is… Is not—" But he was cut off.

"Hey. It's _my_ name. And I give you permission to pronounce it just like that, okay? That is now one of the officially recognized pronunciations."

Viktor nodded, and contemplated a smile. Oh, he really liked her.

"Say it again?"

His hand reached out to tuck a stray lock behind her ear. His fingertips lingered where his eyes had so recently traveled, and he breathed in their closeness. "Hermione," he said, knowing perfectly well that his accent was totally mucking it up, but for the first time, not caring in the least.

Viktor stayed like that for a long moment, before breaking the tension and looking out onto the lake, his gaze steadily avoiding his ship.

"Tell me about who you are, Hermione."

She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. "What do you want to know?"

"Who are your friends? Vhat do you like? Vhere are you from?"

And he listened. Viktor listened to the oddest tales, half told and disjointed about teeth-doctors, the boy who lived, a magical house, murderers who were innocent, professors who were nasty, incompetent, or evil, dragons, basilisks, hippogryphs, trolls, giant spiders, memorizing spell books, knowledge of the dark lord, and all tinged with hope for the future.

When his watch chimed from a pocket, he found himself disappointed, which he supposed was a very good sign. He wanted to know more.

"I guess we should be getting back then?" she said, but made no indication that she'd be willing to move, or let him do so.

Viktor breathed in the moment, strangely worried that it might not occur again. What if she didn't care? What if he didn't make a good enough impression? What if she thought he was just some strange foreigner? Oh, God, what if she already had a boyfriend? All of her other friends were boys, after all. What if she didn't realize what his intentions were?

"I vould not vant you to be late. You might not trust me to be… honorable in future. You might say no to me, next time."

Viktor's heart nearly stopped when she took her head off his shoulder. But when she spoke it was very clear that she hadn't moved far.

"Are you intending to ask me out again?"

"Depends," he said, staring resolutely at the lake. "Do you already haff boyfriend?"

Hermione snorted. "If I did, this evening wouldn't have been nearly as enjoyable as it's been. No," she clarified. "I do not have a boyfriend."

He nodded, almost to himself. That would do for this evening. He didn't have the courage or the energy to try and declare his intensions just now.

He turned his head and found that Hermione was actually quite close. If he stuck out his tongue, he'd probably hit her nose. Not that he was deeply contemplating sticking out his tongue and hitting her nose, but it was better than the alternative, which was a deep desire to kiss her.

Which was a bad idea.

No kissing on the first date. His mother would skin him alive if she knew.

"Ve should go, Hermione."

"Yes," she replied, staring back at him, unmoving.

Finally he broke her gaze and rose, holding out his hand to her as well. Putting his cloak back on and mounting his broom, he held out a hand for her and this time she mounted with much greater ease, sliding herself back to nestle into him.

Viktor had to bite back the groan. Visions of cold showers shifted to a frigid late night swim in the lake, which turned into a co-ed swim in the lake, which lead back to more groans trying to leak out. He held her tight and kicked off the ground instead, guiding the broom a little faster along the other side of the lake, making up some time so she would not be late.

Hearing once more a slightly frightened whine, he bent his head to speak softly in her ear.

"Shh. Close your eyes, Hermione, and feel the vind on your face, feel how fast your body moves through the air."

Just like last time, Viktor could feel her body relax slowly, but unlike last time, it was a short trip. Before he knew it, they were at an open door near Gryffindor tower.

Stopped and hovering, Viktor had yet to move his legs, and was incredibly satisfied to hear a mue of discontent at the apparent end of their date. Still, he let go of the broom and sat up straight. He did not, however, immediately let go of his hold around her waist. He just loosened it a bit.

"Did you enjoy the effening?" he asked quietly from behind.

Hermione turned slightly one way and then the other, apparently satisfied with neither.

"Hold on," she said, and then took his bracing arm in a deathlock with both hands and swung one leg over until she was effectively sitting across his lap, ostensibly on the broom.

For a moment he couldn't breathe. It was one thing – rather a forward thing in itself – to be riding tandem on a racing broom. It was a whole other thing for him to be fully embracing her while she was facing him, and while they both happened to be sitting on a broom. The dream actually had looked something like this.

She didn't seem to be aware of his moral quandary, however.

"Okay. It's hard to talk to you if I can't see you. Anyway," she continued, her voice softening slightly. "I did enjoy the evening. Very much," she added with a smile.

Her hands were burning marks into his bicep, he was certain.

"Did you?" she asked, actually looking uncertain. Did she really not know?

"Yes," he said at last, his eyes not leaving hers. "Very much."

Her full smile was a beautiful and infectious thing. Before he knew it, she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a rather enormous hug.

"Thank you, Viktor," she whispered in his ear before she slid off the broom and bounded into the castle.

--

Viktor watched her take out her wand and wave it over a scrap of paper that she had torn off the roll she was working on. She muttered something and it was gone.

And sliding down his book was a very familiar looking scrap of paper.

_Do you like Muggle Studies, or is it just the chair?_

He looked up at her and she had arched an eyebrow in challenge. It was a good thing that the cows were sitting behind him today. It gave him full leave to grin at her.

She put her wand away and placed her quill carefully to the side of her work before pushing back from the table and wandering off. He gave her a moment before going in the opposite direction, then doubling back out of sight of his following.

When he came upon her she was leaning against the arm of the chair, with a book open in her hands.

He wasn't sure if what he wanted to do was proper or not, but he decided that he might as well do it anyway. They weren't in public, really, and after holding her on his broom last night, wanting to sit this close to her seemed rather tame.

Swallowing down his doubts, Viktor went straight for the chair, despite the fact that she was already half-sitting on the arm of it, and sat down. It did indeed put them rather close to each other.

"I hafe to admit," he said quietly, "It's the chair."

She looked up and over from her book and gave him a narrowed look. He really hoped that they were playing, but he got the feeling that this might be an opportunity for him to swallow his foot.

"Does that make me a bad person?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "No. Provided that you have nothing _against_ Muggle Studies."

"I think studying Muggles is a good idea. Right now, Hermione, I prefer to study Muggle-born. Perhaps you help me?"

Her eyes narrowed again, but there was a small smile on her face. Viktor wondered if she knew how absolutely sinful she looked.

"What sort of help were you seeking? Research assistant? Tutor? Or perhaps a partner for practical work? What form will your final examination take?"

"Field vork, definitely. A partner vould be very useful."

"Useful?"

"How do you say? Could-not-do-vithout. Indispensable. Necessary."

"I see," she said with a gamely thoughtful look on her face. "I might be able to help you. What would I get in return? It sounds like a large time commitment on my part, you see."

Something very happy twisted in his stomach.

"Vhat do you vish for?"

"Other than world peace and freedom for house elves?"

"Yes. Other than that." She wanted freedom for house elves? Had anyone ever explained the system to her?

"Well. To be perfectly honest, I… I, um," she stammered, and looked over to the shelf. "I think I might like a boyfriend."

"Really?" he asked in a surprised tone, but softened it with a little smile. "I know a good boy for you. Tall, athletic, smart, and Bulgarian."

When she looked back to him, her smile was huge, and her giggle nearly silent. "His name wouldn't happen to be _Viktor_, would it?" she whispered.

"Maybe," he conceded.

"I think we're agreed, then," she said, still smiling.

Viktor looked long into her eyes and took a deep breath. Her smile faded, but her eyes widened. "This is _very_ good, Hermione." He reached up and traced the side of her face as he had the night before. "This makes me very happy. And you?"

She inhaled deeply, and let out a shaky breath. She nodded, and replied. "Yes. I think I'm really happy about this, Viktor."

"You _think?_ I must vork harder then."

"No that's not—Well," Hermione drawled, "If you feel you must. I won't stop you from over-achieving."

They both smiled, and both spent a long moment simply in each others quiet company.

"And now, ve go study."

"Yeah," she said happily, popping off the arm of the chair and replacing the book on the lowest shelf. Viktor couldn't help but think that the view was just beautiful.

And now, his.

--

_Hermione,_

_We have not spoken in several days. I see you around the castle, in the library, but always Harry is with you now. I do not know if it is alright for me to approach, or pass you notes, and I do not wish to do the wrong thing. I look to my partner to instruct me._

_Karkaroff watches very closely now, as well. A difficult situation I wish to tell you about. Can you meet before lunch? Greenhouse 2 is empty then._

_Viktor_

Hermione folded up the note with a sense of relief that was palpable. She pet the owl and sent it off, shaking her head at Harry. "A note from Mum. I thought that maybe something was wrong, but…" she stopped, glanced over to the Slytherin table where a pair of intense, dark eyes were tracking her. A relieved smile broke over her face as she held his gaze and finished her comment to her friend sitting next to her.

"But everything's just fine."

--

...to be continued...


	2. First Kiss

**Title**: First Kiss  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Series**: Firebolt Ring  
**Disclaimer**: Belongs to JKR and associated people.  
**Pairing**: HG/VK, Hermione's pov.  
**Word Coun****t**: 4,619  
**Warnings**: light R for serious sensuality.  
**Notes**: This is fic number two in the Firebolt Ring series. Fic number one is _Passing Notes_. I'd like to thank my two lovely and brand new betas, Angelictears and Victoriana, as well as my best friend Rakaiagirl for their reading, commenting, and general cheerleading. My story is much better for their redaction.

--

Charms practice was the excuse Hermione used to cry off hanging about between Harry and Ron today. The idea that she was working on improving her Charms wasn't far off, in the metaphorical sense, and being the buffer between the two feuding boys was getting old – fast. Really, she needed a break.

But en route to the greenhouses, Hermione did once again wonder just how much before lunch was "before lunch." Was he talking three minutes before lunch? An hour before lunch? Directly after breakfast? In the end, she cut the difference between the two most likely and aimed for thirty minutes. It was the easiest solution by far to the many quandaries before her, each one begging for some sort of resolution, each one seemingly far out of reach.

There was the issue of the deadly and wrongly named _Tri_-Wizard Tournament, with its four champions. Two of which were near and dear to her.

There was the unknown issue of Viktor's headmaster. Apparently he was even odder than previously suspected. Just how odd would he turn out to be, and would it be a harmless sort of odd or a dangerous sort of odd?

There was the issue of Ron and Harry's ongoing argument, which was rather infringing on her possible flirting time with Viktor. Not that flirting with Viktor was more important that her longstanding friendship with Harry, of course… but she needed to draw a line or two. And she had no idea how, or where to do so.

And of course, there was Viktor. Or rather, there were her feelings regarding Viktor. Or perhaps more appropriately (since her feelings for Viktor were pretty clear at the moment – definitely liked him, wished to find out more) there was the matter of her hormones regarding Viktor; the situation was completely out of control.

It had been wonderful on his broom, until the very end. She had been happy, abnormally relaxed for being on a racing broom, and she'd even been a little excited. But she couldn't stop the excitement. The more time had passed, the more it felt like her nerve endings were on fire. When he finally stopped the broom back at the castle, she just… She didn't want to get off. Hermione had in fact told herself several times to just get off the damn broom and she herself had entirely refused to do it.

It had been a completely insane situation. And it was one she wished would happen again sometime very soon.

Hermione had never in her life wished to bodily crawl into a boy's lap, and just… nibble. The urge to perhaps nibble on some convenient body part like a neck, or a chin, or maybe an ear was quite strong whilst on that broom, however. There she had been – already in just such a lap, poised for nibbling. It was the lap of a handsome boy, a strong boy, a smart boy, a boy who was very interested in her, as a girl, being in his lap. Was it so wrong to not want to leave? She had shown admirable restraint – no nibbling occurred.

But if I don't leave in a situation like that, what is the alternative? Fall asleep cuddling on a broomstick?

Hermione had meant the question as a rhetorical exercise, but found the obviously unacceptable answer rather appealing. The logistics of being found in the morning – or worse, in the middle of the night by Filch – were less appealing in reality, but the idea was already flying far and wide in her fantasy world where she and Viktor already had three small children and a cottage in the Pyrenees.

But reality was looming, and it took the form of the greenhouses with their plants, monstrous and benign, mostly contained within the glass walls. With the buildings beginning to fill her view and the knowledge of some of the resident flora, Hermione found it harder and harder to entertain such fantastic ideas. The very concrete world around her was suddenly coming into the focus of the present. The second greenhouse was back near the castle wall, and that was her destination. It contained not a fantasy figure from a romantic novel, but a boy with whom some tandem broom riding did occur just a few days ago.

Hermione wondered where Professor Sprout was, and whether the greenhouse was occasionally empty at this time, or reliably so. As she neared the door, she saw a figure pacing inside. Her heart clenched when she thought of him waiting in here, maybe not being sure she would come. How long had he been waiting?

Her hand on the door made the slightest amount of noise and his head jerked up. Any more than that she couldn't see through the warped glass. He was coming toward her, though. That was clear, even before she had opened the door and stepped inside.

"Hermione," he said in a relieved tone. She let the sound of her name roll over her. Viktor made it rich with the 'r' he always rolled and the vowels he made feel like dark chocolate.

"I think that maybe you don't vant to meet me after all."

They stood just inside the doorway. She looked up into his slightly worried eyes and fingered the strap of her book bag.

"No!" she protested. "I just… wasn't sure, um, when to come." Hermione realized that she wasn't really breathing, and tried to do that once or twice. "I'm sorry," she added.

He looked like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. "Is okay. Come, I take your bag."

Part of Hermione rebelled at the implication that she might not be able to carry the bag she'd been hauling about for the last three years, but he was blocking the way. And she'd inadvertently made him wait and caused him stress. And he looked so… earnest.

In the end she forked over the bag without so much as a peep.

Hermione followed him on a slightly winding path through the various and innocuous-looking plant life of the greenhouse to a small bench at the back corner. Viktor put her bag down next to his, and indicated for her to sit. Hermione had a brief moment when she wondered if both of them would actually fit comfortably on the bench, but other priorities were calling to her.

"First things first," she said, mustering the courage of her house and stepping up to him to wrap her arms around his neck. His arms immediately came around her waist and she soaked in his stunned expression even as she placed a small kiss on his cheek. Pulling back slightly, she smiled. "Congratulations on being selected. I've wanted to tell you for days." His arms tightened around her.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, leaning down to briefly rest his forehead against hers.

"Are you still happy about the choice?" She had no intention of keeping the worried tone from her voice.

His brow furrowed slightly. "Vhy would I not be happy about such a thing?"

"It's dangerous, Viktor. People _die_."

He shook his head as he responded. "The tournament is no more dangerous than playing Quidditch. Different skills, yes, but I am ready, and there is time to prepare before each trial."

She was unconvinced; Hermione had very little doubt that it showed in her face.

Viktor squeezed her gently, his tone coaxing. "Hermione," he drawled softly between them. "Von't you be happy for me? Or, at least proud of me?"

Her heart softened immediately. "I am proud of you, Viktor." She gazed up into his eyes and was momentarily content just to dwell in the darkness of them. "I am," she confirmed. "You were the best choice of all the _proud sons of Durmstrang_," she said with certain emphasis.

"There's quite a lot going on in here," she said, sliding one arm from around his neck and softly rubbing his temple with her thumb, "And in here," she continued, putting her palm over his chest, resting it on the brown wool of his uniform. "I can't wait to find out what you're like – other than…" Her eyes darted away, "Utterly charming and interested in me."

Viktor sighed in what seemed like a very contented way, and took her hand that rested over his heart into one of his warm ones. Catching her attention with her hand, he raised her open palm to his lips and placed a small lingering kiss there.

It was possible that Hermione was not actually breathing in that moment. She wasn't entirely sure. She was flashing back to her intense desire to nibble. It was a sort of all encompassing feeling that seemed to be focused in her belly, her heart, and her kissed right palm.

A moment later he took her hand and stepped back.

"Ve have much to discuss, you and I. Let us sit and begin."

Hermione looked over at the smallish bench that was obviously their destination. "How are we…" she trailed off. Viktor sat down, but he sat on one end, straddling the bench, like he might a broom. She would have plenty of room, provided she didn't have any qualms about cuddling up to him.

It was a good thing she didn't.

Because of the angle of his legs, she found herself facing slightly away from him, but leaning right up against his chest. One of his hands came around her back and was starting to gently stroke her upper arm. His other hand brushed against the pleats of her wool skirt that draped over her thigh.

"Don't you get cold?" Hermione looked down at her skirt. She could see her knee from here.

"Sometimes," she replied, placing her hand over his. Viktor rested the weight of his hand on her thigh, moving his thumb slightly in a tiny caress, even as her fingers explored the back of his own.

Hermione turned to look at the head that was just above her right shoulder. "But I'm not cold right now." It was the worst time for it, but she shivered. Truth be told, she was toasty warm – the shiver had a lot more to do with Viktor's hand on her thigh than anything else.

He just looked at her.

Finally her eyes darted away and she took a deep breath. "So what's going on with your headmaster?"

"Karkaroff, he…" Viktor trailed off. When Hermione glanced over her shoulder to look at him, he looked significantly troubled.

"I don't know how to say in polite vay in English." Viktor sighed. "I don't… trust him."

"What do you think he might do?"

"I don't know," he said, and Hermione could feel him shaking his head slightly. "But he is cruel. Not vith me, I _matter_ too much," he said. From his tone, Hermione was beginning to understand the loathing Viktor felt for his headmaster. "And he is entranced vith Dark Arts. Too much, my parents say. I think… maybe… he could be ruthless in right situation, but that might not be. I… I do not know. I do not vish to make false accusation." His sigh was a heavy one. "He is different, this year, even before ve came. And now that I am the school's champion, he focus on me even more. At first I think that it gives me more room vith him, but now I think it gives me less. Do you understand vhat I try to say?"

Hermione nodded her assent and tilted her head slightly, so she could see him out of her periphery, without craning her neck painfully. "What do you suspect him of, Viktor?"

"It vas after Vorld Cup," he said very softly, as if imparting a secret. "I did not take him seriously. I vas… angry… and distracted. I did not think about this until this veek. Karkaroff found me at finals, after you saw me in the Top Box. I vas in the medical tent, still hours to go before the attack. He varned me to leafe," Viktor said, barely audible. "I did not listen." With much more strength and feeling, he continued after a moment's pause. "How could he hafe known vhat vas to occur? I… My parents say he vas Death Eater vonce. I think he is Death Eater, still."

Hermione curled her fingers between Viktor's and squeezed. There was a war going on inside of her, and she didn't know what to do. On the one hand she wanted to take very seriously what Viktor was saying. He was obviously worried, and objectively speaking his worry was not unwarranted. On the other hand, this sounded really familiar. Two words came to mind, actually: Professor Snape. And he always turned out to be good in the end. Might not Karkaroff be in some sort of similar situation? But back to that first hand, if she was wrong about that, it meant that her boyfriend's headmaster was a Death Eater. And her boyfriend had the particular attention of his headmaster… "Okay, so, worst-case scenario: What if he is a Death Eater? What does that mean for you?"

"I do not know. But I do not trust him to act in best interest of anyvone but himself."

"He warned you, though. At the final. He warned you, even at the risk of you figuring it out."

"That does not make me feel better, Hermione," he said slowly and deliberately.

She turned so she could look at him full. Odd, how she could feel so safe and warm in his arms, and yet he was in such turmoil. "I know," she said. "You've got good reason to worry, but there's something else that's going on. Even if your headmaster is a Death Eater, Professor Dumbledore is the only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared, and he's here, too."

She could feel his full body sigh. "That does make me feel better."

After a moment's hesitation, Viktor continued. "There is something else, too. Karkaroff is… I do not know the vord. Somevone who appreciates only pure-blood vizards."

"A bigot," Hermione supplied helpfully, and with some venom.

"Yes," he said calmly. "Karkaroff is a bigot. He vould take no pleasure in finding out that ve are dating. Maybe he vould do nothing. But I do not trust him in this matter, either."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, you make a good point. I'm not sure I trust him either. You think we should keep it underground, then?" Viktor gave her an uncomprehending look. "I mean, you think we should be discreet?"

"Not forever," he responded. "But for a little vhile. At least until ve get a better understanding of vhat is going on."

"I can agree to that. Besides, your fan club might come after me if they realized we were dating." Hermione smirked and snorted at the same time. "It's just as well."

There was a small period of silence during which Hermione busied herself with tracing the lines of the back of Viktor's hand, and attempted to ignore how nice it felt to be nestled between his legs.

"You said there were many things you wanted to discuss," she pointed out. "What's next?"

"You are never alone in the library anymore. I do not know vhether it is okay for me to pass notes to you."

"Oh, that," Hermione said, sighing and scrubbing her face with her free hand. "Yes, Harry has been around a lot. Ron is in a strop with him because Ron thinks that Harry entered his own name into the Goblet without telling Ron, which is a completely ridiculous idea. And Harry is angry right back because Ron won't believe the obvious truth that Harry's not idiot enough to enter his name. – Not that I think you're an idiot for entering your name. I think you're probably pretty prepared for what you're going to meet. I don't feel that way about Harry. It's bloody insane, is what it is. – So, anyway, they're not speaking, or being within ten feet of each other, on purpose. It's a bit annoying, really. So Harry is avoiding the Common Room, and since there's no quidditch this year, he's spending a lot of time at the library." Hermione took a breath. "Anyway, I think it would be perfectly lovely if you passed me notes. And it's nice to know you're there, even when we don't get a chance to talk. But, um, what do you think?"

"Now that I know how you feel, I can tell you that I prefer to be vith you, than not be vith you. Passing notes, flying, talking in the greenhouse – vhatefer."

Hermione looked up and over her shoulder, a tentative smile blossoming on her face. She caught her lower lip between her teeth while she gazed into his eyes.

"I really like being with you, too. That's sort of the everyday tragic part of your headmaster and your fan club. We sort of have to be indifferent to each other in public."

Viktor's response was a rumbling groan of assent that gave Hermione the shivers again. "I'm not certain how indifferent I can be in public."

Hermione's awareness of Viktor's body around her suddenly increased with his soft, growly response. Every point of contact seemed to prickle. His broad chest against her back and shoulders, his legs firm against her rear and thigh, his hands hot on her arm, and her thigh all seemed to be suddenly intense to the point of risqué.

Viktor rested his forehead behind her ear, and she could feel the warm air of his breath as he exhaled heavily. Then he spoke. "I've never felt like this. I don't _vant_ to hide it. I vant to tell everybody. Especially girls in the library."

"But we probably should," she said with a certain fatalism. "Hide it, I mean. You know, at least for now."

In the brief silence that followed, Hermione's stomach took the opportunity to rumble, loudly. She groaned.

"And ve probably should get to lunch, and feed you."

"No," she whined. "We've only just begun talking." Hermione turned her head to look at him again. "I don't want to go yet."

His smile was small, but present. "I vas hoping you vould say that. I brought provisions."

"You did?"

Viktor gave a little rumble of assent as he pulled away and rooted around in his bag with one hand. He pulled out a huge orange. "You like?"

She nodded, and his arms came around her once more. As he started to very carefully and methodically peel the orange, attempting to get the rind off all in one long strip, Hermione decided that now was the time to get some information out of him.

"What are your favorite things, Viktor?"

"Hmm, my Firebolt. Quidditch. My parents. Arithmancy –"

"_Arithmancy_?" Hermione asked, rather shocked.

"Yes, Arithmancy," he said in a tone that brooked no challenge. "Arithmancy and Charms, actually. I like to know vhy things vork, and make my own. I like Transfiguration, too, but not as much as Charms. And music. My mother plays the cello, and I grew up listening."

"Do you play?" she asked, even as she accepted the long strand of peel so he could section off the orange.

"A little. But never at school. Just growing up, and on holiday now."

"What instrument do you play?"

"My mother's cello. Here," he said, handing her a slice, and taking one for himself.

They ate in silence for a bit, and when the orange was finished, he took the peel from her and pushed it into a pocket of his bag.

"I love oranges, but my hands are always so sticky afterwards…"

"Here," he said, holding his hands out in front of Hermione, inviting her to put her hands in his. She did, and was slightly surprised when his hands encompassed hers, and he said, "_Evanesco."_

Her hands were clean.

"You know wandless magic?" she asked in disbelief.

"Not for all magic, but for a few charms, yes."

"That's brilliant," Hermione breathed, entirely impressed.

"And useful," Viktor pointed out practically. "For life, for house. Charm to clean, to repair, to summon, to provide light. For these, my mother thinks, no vand should be necessary. Should be like breathing."

"So your mum taught you wandless magic?"

"And to play cello. Both, like breathing, for her."

"Wow. What's it like, growing up with wizards for parents?"

Viktor shrugged. They now held hands, both sets resting in her lap. "Apparently different from growing up vith Muggles as parents."

"Tell me something, then, about your childhood."

Viktor collected his thoughts for a moment, and then told her about his first toy broomstick that he got for his fourth birthday. Hermione listened in rapt attention as he spun out the story in his slow, melodic way, letting not only the words and their meanings, but also their very sounds wash over her. It was like being lulled – not into sleep, but deeper and deeper into the forest by a will o' the wisp.

That awareness was coming on her again, creeping like a fine mist over the glen. She shifted slightly in hopes that the awareness might slough off, but to no avail. The sensation only got more intense, as Viktor unconsciously shifted around her, even as he told his story. Hermione could feel the muscles in his thighs clench and release as his body moved ever so slightly around hers.

In the pause of a thought forming, Hermione heard the soft chime of Viktor's watch. Could the time have possibly passed so quickly?

"Lunch is over," Viktor sang out softly.

Hermione shifted in his embrace, turning toward him as much as she could – which wasn't much – putting her hands on his shoulders, letting her forearms drape down his chest. She looked into his eyes and smiled a little smile before getting lost in his own dark eyes.

"I'm really glad you asked me here, Viktor," she whispered. The moment seemed so close, so intimate that a normal voice seemed like too much, too big for the small space between them.

"I'm glad you came," he responded in a similar tone, which seemed almost reverent. As she had turned, his arms encircled her waist, but just now his left hand came up and pushed a stray lock of her hair back, tracing down the side of her face as he went. As Viktor's thumb reached her chin, it floated gently back up to the center of her bottom lip, and slowly traced her now parted and gasping lips.

Her breath came out in a shudder, and she watched as his eyes seemed to glaze over. She watched him watch her breathe, and Hermione hadn't ever in her life seen anything sexier. She could see his chest rising and falling now, visibly and rapidly. He met her gaze, and his thumb found its rest at the corner of her mouth. He licked his lips and it looked like he wanted to say something, but he also looked as glazed as Hermione felt.

"May I kiss you, Hermione?" he whispered, staring into her eyes.

"Yes," she breathed out. "Please –" but his lips were already there. A soft, cool, tentative pressure against hers, and then he was gone.

Hermione leaned forward and tilted her head slightly, and the soft, cool pressure was back, and she could feel it from the base of her spine to the top of her neck. It made her gasp a little, and when she opened her mouth, so did Viktor. And then an entirely new world opened as well.

Oranges. And Viktor. And heat. The heat started with his breath in their open mouthed kiss and quickly spread to her entire body. Her arms came more fully around his neck with a mind completely of their own. The leg of his that rested against her own shifted down and Viktor gently swept Hermione closer, sliding her legs over and on top of his lowered one.

His hand stayed half way up her bare thigh, supporting her position half on his lap. Where her wool skirt might otherwise be keeping her warm, his hand burned into her skin. It made her breath catch in the midst of her kiss, and made her arms tighten around his neck.

Her world spun on its axis around her in the most dizzying fashion when she felt his gently questing tongue against her lips. She moaned, and her breath came in much smaller pants as her tongue touched his. Slick and strong, her tongue slid against and around his.

Oranges, and Viktor, and heat.

She felt squirmy, and pressed herself into his chest. As his tongue met and met hers again, darting forth and then retreating back, she followed him in the dance, never quite being able to get enough of him. Her entire body was on fire, and it was all pouring out in her lips pressing against his, her tongue tangling with his, her arms around him, her fingers rubbing at the scruff of his so very short hair. It wasn't enough. She didn't know what would be enough, but she broke off their kiss and drew in a shaky breath.

Her head fell back with a little moan, her chest heaving, and she just shook for a moment in his arms.

Viktor did not stop kissing her. When her chin tipped up, his lips left a gentle, hot trail down her neck to her collar, and then back up again.

"So beautiful," he murmured near her ear, just before he kissed it.

"Viktor," she sighed, holding him close to her, thoroughly enjoying his physicality.

"You have class, I'm thinking," he rumbled in her ear, even as his hand massaged the outside of her thigh.

Hermione licked her lips and tried to engage her brain.

"Class? Yes, class. I should, um…" Instead of getting up, Hermione collapsed quite happily in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

"Wow," she breathed. "I didn't know a kiss could _be_ like that."

"Me either," he said, nuzzling into her neck. "But I hoped," he added, and Hermione didn't need to see his grin to know it was there.

She giggled. "We're going to have to discuss that sometime, Viktor." Her energy was coming back to her, and with it a sort of playfulness she didn't realize she had. She gave him a tiny kiss at the sharp corner of his jaw and pulled back.

"I do have class," she said, staring boldly into his eyes for the first time.

Viktor released his hold on her legs, and pulled her skirt back down to a reasonable level. She had no idea it had been so high, but couldn't really bring herself to be overly bothered by the new information.

"Vould you go flying vith me again? Next veek? Thursday or Friday, same time?"

He got up with her and handed her the bag she'd brought, settling it gently on her shoulders before reaching down and taking up his own.

She nodded. "Thursday? By the pumpkins?"

"No. Beauxbaton carriage is there, now. I'll pick you up at the castle door."

They made their winding way to the door of the greenhouse. Hermione grinned and tossed a glance back at him. "This isn't an excuse to avoid me until Thursday, you know."

Viktor made a little disgruntled noise. "Just try to keep me avay, and see how successful you are."

As her hand touched the door handle, his had touched hers. She paused and looked back at him. Viktor brought her hand up to his lips as he bent over it slightly.

Oranges, Viktor, and heat – she could still taste him.

--

...to be continued...


	3. Letters Home I

**Title**: Letters Home I  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Series**: Firebolt Ring  
**Rating**: G  
**Disclaimer**: Does not belong to me. JKR & Associates.  
**Notes**: Thank you to my betas who are diligent, but busy. :huggles:

--

Dear Mama,

I have arrived safely in Scotland and have begun to settle into a routine that suits me, for the most part. Hogwarts is a very different place than Durmstrang, but I like it here. The weather is more like Bulgaria, for one thing. I think this year will not be a bad one. Quidditch has been cancelled this year at Hogwarts due to the Tournament, but I am glad to have brought my broom anyway, as I have found it useful in other ways.

I entered my name for the Tournament as was expected and I was chosen to become Durmstrang's Champion. I am very pleased with this and will do my best. Already preparations are being made for our first challenge, and since secrets are not secrets for long, I have a good idea of where my research needs to go in order to best prepare myself for what will come. I hope that you and Papa will be able to come to at least one of the challenges.

Even more challenging than the Tournament is celebrity status in this new place. There are many girls who believe that because I am good at Quidditch it allows them to follow me around and giggle, but I ignore them as best I can. They are troublesome in the library, however.

But in the library I have found something even better than I could have imagined, Mama. Her name is Hermione (which I cannot yet properly pronounce in English – it is so embarrassing), and she does not care overly for Quidditch – likes it well enough, but was not impressed with me, or my fan club. She glared at me, Mama! It was so refreshing. We have talked a lot since then, and she no longer glares. I really like her, and I hope that whenever you and Papa decide to come that you are willing to meet her. She's very pretty, very intelligent, and she makes my heart beat fast. Most important to me, she seems interested in me despite Quidditch, and not because of Quidditch.

Give Papa my love, and play a nocturne for me. I love you, and I miss you,

_Viktor_

--

Viktor,

Your Father sends his love, and I have played you your nocturne. I hope you enjoyed it. We have been thinking of getting you your own Cello as a gift for your graduation. Would that please you, or would you prefer something different?

I am glad to hear that you are finding life comfortable this year. We were worried that life at Hogwarts might not be everything for which you had hoped. Your Father does wonder, however, what other uses you have found for your beloved Firebolt, if not Quidditch. He wonders, but I say you do not have to answer, if you do not wish.

There was never any doubt in our minds that you would do your best, and we are so very proud of you that you have been selected as the Champion of Durmstrang. Of course, we are not surprised at all. Viktor, you are a very talented and multi-faceted young man. The world knows one small part of your abilities. We know there is more to you than your love and skill concerning Quidditch. As for your "fan club" you are very wise to ignore them. I am very proud of you for that as well.

But about your young lady, you must tell us more. A good Greek name, Hermione, but I can understand that you have difficulties getting your tongue around it. If only you had been raised in Smolyan Oblast instead of Montana you might be able to pronounce her name, but Vratsa has been good to you in other ways, I think. She is pretty, intelligent, and scowls? It is an interesting combination that is perhaps only appealing to you, my son. Still, I think you wise to choose a companion from those who care less about your Quidditch career. You will have to tell me how your romance progresses. You are approaching an age where you may marry if you wish it, and with that comes many complicated circumstances: emotions, senses. The body, mind, and heart must be in unison in such decision-making, my love. Know that even far away, you may discuss anything with me, Viktor.

At any rate, your Father and I would be pleased to make the acquaintance of your young lady, Hermione. We are planning to attend the final challenge, but I will tell you more of that when the time comes.

Study well, and have courage in your first challenge. God is with you.

Love,

_Mama_

--

Viktor folded up the letter and slid it back into the envelope it arrived in. Slipping the thin bit of parchment under his breakfast plate, he made an effort to stop smiling but gave it up quickly as a lost cause. It was a mix of things, really, that affected him so. Partially it was just the receipt of a letter from home. And his father had seen right through his veiled mention of alternative uses for his Firebolt. And his mother was eager to hear more of Hermione… and, had mentioned, she had pointed out – He couldn't even think it in his head. It was too early. It was too soon. She was entirely too young – his mother didn't know _that _about her.

But, oh – _Hermione Krum_. No. Viktor glared at the eggs and tomatoes on his plate. _No_. He was being silly, and there was no room for silliness in his life right now. He needed to survive the tournament, he needed to graduate, he needed to get back to Vratsa and play as well the second year as the first. It was an entirely frivolous thought – the sort that those girls who followed him around would have, picturing their own first name between the words "Mrs." and "Krum." Besides, it was entirely too soon and wholly inappropriate at this point. His mother would think differently if she knew everything. She would not have even mentioned it, or if she had, she might have said something altogether different about his prospects of marriage. It was absolutely no good, no matter how he looked at it. He would forcibly squeeze the thought from his brain if he had to.

_Marriage._ Viktor closed his eyes tightly. No, no, no, no, no. _Concentrate on not being eaten by a dragon, Viktor!_ Besides, she wouldn't be ready for marr- such a thing for another four years. _Four years! Four years? __**Dragons**__, Viktor! Focus!_ Yelling at himself in the privacy of his head seemed to help. After all, much can occur in four years, especially years apart. In fact, much can happen in one year, particularly this year. He could be eaten by a large dragon in the first test, for instance.

He sighed. But she was just so brilliant, was the thing. Brilliant, the way the British use that word, to mean not just smart, but wonderful, amazing, and incredible. Relative to everyone else around him, Hermione shone like the moon on a field of stars.

And today was Thursday. Viktor wasn't sure whether he was more nervous about flying this evening with Hermione, or enduring the first trial in a few days.

_It doesn't give you leave to ignore me, you know._ Her words earlier in the week haunted him. He hadn't ignored her, per se, but they hadn't spoken, either. It was a mixture of things, really. It was much easier to gather his courage when they were alone than to speak to her in the midst of others. For one thing we he got nervous, his grasp of English flew out the nearest window. The other major concern was her habitual partner during such times when he might actually approach: Harry Potter.

Viktor knew that he himself was famous, though it did boggle even his active imagination. But it was a fake sort of famous. Sport was wonderful, but essentially meaningless in the larger scope of history. Maybe less meaningless in that it brought people together, and whenever people came together for a purpose, something interesting tended to happen, but still – of the ways to gather people, a _game_ was low on the list of relative importance. Defeating the strongest, craziest, and darkest Dark Lord in recent memory was higher on that same list.

Harry Potter was only 14 years old – not even at the peak of his powers, but then he hadn't been at six months, either. Viktor was getting a chance to see, and in a sense work with a young version of someone who well might turn into one of the most powerful wizards of light in history, ranking up there with Merlin and Dumbledore. Either that, or according to the wisdom of his own wizarding education, Potter might turn into quite the powerful dark wizard, but he had good friends, and that was always a good sign. It's the loners you had to watch out for.

As a matter of fact, Harry Potter had at least one excellent friend, Viktor's own wonderful Hermione, and the two of them had been together quite a bit over the course of the last month. And Viktor couldn't actually bring himself to sit down with the two of them, much less speak when _he_ was around.

But if he hadn't gotten the letter from his mother, if he hadn't seen her write of marriage when he himself had been daydreaming about, well, if not marriage itself, then certainly things of a long-term and incredibly intimate nature, he might have been able to marshal the nerve to talk with her, Harry Potter or no Harry Potter. But these thoughts of marriage, they were troubling thoughts. Thoughts, too, that he had no business in having. But, God, it felt so good to have them.

And so thusly troubled, he had not approached, and with each missed opportunity he berated himself and heard her echoing voice getting more and more condemning on each pass. Viktor hadn't approached even once, and for whatever reasons of her own she hadn't either. He couldn't keep himself from looking at her, though. It was the worst at meals because he just couldn't stare at her the entire time, regardless of the fact that it was possible. It just wasn't polite.

Of course, not everything that Viktor did was, strictly speaking, polite, but as the skills came from his mother and she served as Viktor's final arbiter in such matters, there was less worry attached. And he'd been practicing that not-entirely-polite wandless magic even more, lately. He'd been honing it for use beyond the Quidditch pitch. His mother was so good at it that she could locate him – and use him as an anchor for apparition if need be – up to ten miles away. Viktor had never needed – or been able – to use the sense to find a specific individual, before now. In fact the skill, vague though it was for him, worked quite well on the pitch, getting an idea of where everyone was, without looking, just by reaching out with his senses. (It was completely useless in finding the snitch, but that was just as well.) But with Hermione, it had become a beautiful game that he would embark on the moment he entered a room. Could he find her? Was she there? How long would it take to pinpoint her location? It was great fun, perhaps, because it came so easily to him, where she was concerned.

And so, he did look, though he never spoke. He wondered if she would understand, or if she might become angry with him. The very thing had happened that she had warned against. Perhaps that wasn't a good sign.

Regardless of signs, Viktor thought as he waited quietly in the cloister, he was here waiting for her. His heart seemed to beat stronger and faster, knocking harder within his chest at each passing moment. He had arrived a bit early, but what if she didn't want to meet him? What if she was angry at him for neglecting to speak with her? Perhaps she was spending time with Harry on purpose, to give him a subtle hint. They had spent time together twice, but maybe she didn't want to see him again.

Viktor shifted his Firebolt in his hands, taking a moment to wipe the sweat off on his trousers. He sat down on a bench that lined the open area, in the shadows as he preferred, because should she come it just wouldn't do to have her find him pacing again. Who knows what she might think about that. If she came. Which she might not. Because she might hate him at this point. In fact she probably did. Why was he waiting? It was really a lost cause. He'd lost the high esteem and good opinion of a wonderful young witch all because he was scared of his own want to marry her, and intimidated by her powerful and rightly famous best friend. He hadn't been bold enough, and it just didn't get any worse. This would qualify for a Shakespearean tragedy.

"Viktor?" a tentative voice called out in the sweetest tones he'd ever heard. There was a God after all. His parents had been right all along.

"I am here," he responded, rather impressed that his voice sounded normal. He stood up quickly and walked into the space of moonlight. "Good effening," he said as they neared one another. He didn't dare use her name right now – he'd just muck it up worse than usual.

She was here, but his thoughts remained dark, nevertheless. Maybe it was the dragon that he knew he'd have to face in five days. Maybe it was the fact that there was plenty of time for her to tell him that she thought him an utter cad, and a bad kisser to boot. His night, he mused, was a nocturne in a minor key.

When she was close enough he reached out his hand and took the one she extended in return. He bent over it and kissed the back tenderly. It was the only thing he could think of doing at this point. It was probably too forward, anyway. Would she even want to fly with him tonight? Viktor lingered over the back of her hand, reluctant to look up at her, but finally facing the inevitability of the thing. Slowly raising his eyes and trying to keep all of his melancholy from spilling out from them, he looked at her. On her angelic countenance there was, unaccountably, a soft and beautiful smile. He could feel his heartbeat again, throbbing dully in his ears and his brain tried to catch up with his senses. The tone of his evening seemed to be miraculously shifting from nocturne to prelude, though Viktor was in a state of minor disbelief.

He straightened and made to let go of her hand, but she held onto him, shifting her fingers slightly so she could get a better grip. She took a step closer to Viktor and blew his mind, just by standing there so close to him and smiling up at him.

"Good evening, Viktor. I hope you're doing well. I mean, I'm sorry for not talking with you, and I –" but Viktor cut her off.

"I am sorry, too. I not speak vit you as I say I vould." Swallowing harshly, Viktor momentarily went back to the dark place, and turned his head away. His slow and halting English was just adding to his misery. God, how he hated foreign languages. "I am sorry," he murmured again.

A gentle squeeze of his hand brought his attention back to the moment. "You're forgiven. Will you forgive me as well?"

A relieved smile broke out across his face. "Yes," he said, even as he wondered what exactly there was to forgive. Though as relieved as he was, he wasn't ready to linger so close to the castle where someone might wander by and wonder at their tryst. "Ve fly now?"

She nodded and he released her hand. Setting his Firebolt at the proper level, Viktor popped open the one button that was holding his calf-length thick leather and fur coat closed. It was cold enough to merit the jacket, but he'd noticed that it was much warmer with two than just one, especially sitting behind. Mounting his beloved broom, he lowered it slightly and held out a hand for her. And then he noticed something incongruous that had been itching at his subconscious since he first saw her that evening.

"You no vear varm clothes. Don't vant to fly tonight?"

She didn't answer him right away, getting on the broom instead, and wiggling back until she was snug against him. The relatively thin layers of her sweater felt like bare skin against his own thick shirt compared to their last broom ride with layers upon layers of thick wool between them.

"Quite the contrary, Viktor," she said, her voice a quick and breathy murmur, almost inaudible as she turned her head around and slightly down. "But I did rather think that _you_ might be keeping me warm enough." He could barely understand her murmured words, but he got her point, and his eyes momentarily rolled back in his head and he drew his left arm around her, holding her closer still, then bent down over the broomstick, feeling every inch of her back, her hips, and legs press into his body. He leaned in and pressed a tiny kiss to the edge of her ear before he shot out through the archway, skimming the ground until they were a safe distance from the castle.

--

Dear Mama,

Tomorrow is the first trial, and a few days ago was my third date with Hermione. I thought, just in case an irate dragon should roast me, I would write you today. Should I remain gratefully unroasted, I will write again soon.

That is to be the first trial, of course, dragons. Something to do with dragons. Probably trying to get something away from a dragon, as it is nigh on impossible to do. My guess is that we wouldn't have to kill one outright – I'm sure the paperwork for importing dragons for the sole purpose of killing them would be enormous, but I'm certain that if they _happen_ to die terrible deaths, no one will be very upset, except perhaps for their handlers. The subject of the first trial is supposed to be a secret, but that didn't last long. They did, after all, have to store four full-sized dragons somewhere, didn't they? And the Headmaster encourages me to fly and train in my hours free from my studies and research… Really, how I could avoid finding them, I fail to understand. Perhaps that is all part of the trial, or all part of the Headmaster's ambition for me. Still, I think the others know, as well. I have not asked Hermione, I have not wanted to put her in that position, but it just seems very likely. The Headmistress of Beauxbaton seems to be keeping quite good company with the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts, who himself is a personal friend of Harry Potter, the fourth champion. And I can't imagine one champion of Hogwarts keeping something from the other, or at least that is what Professor Karkaroff believes, and I think that of all the things he says, it has the most amount of merit.

And why, you ask, would Hermione have anything to do with this? She is Mr. Potter's best friend, of course. Well, one of them, but the other is being 'a right git' (don't the British have the most extraordinary colloquialisms? I leave it to you to look that one up. I had to.) and refuses to believe that Mr. Potter did not enter his own name in the cup. I think he is powerful enough a wizard to do it if he had wanted to, but to look at his face at any given time is to understand that he has no wish to be a Champion. It seems to me that I have a kindred spirit in Mr. Potter, in that we both hate our status and wish it were otherwise. Perhaps it is enough for him, defeating Voldemort – and being constantly pursued by that Dark Lord's spirit, if Hermione is correct. (I have been learning some interesting things, Mama, and I think I may learn more yet. The war is not over, I think. There is just a sort of sickly lull in which we have all drowsed, drunken in our happiness at his apparent defeat. I think this time all of the former Soviet states will not be able to avoid "unfortunate entanglement." That was perhaps the only thing that Communism was good for – it kept Voldemort's insane politics out.)

I have settled in well, as I have said, but upon further reflection it is very odd to be here, and I don't mean just Hogwarts – I think this year would be odd anywhere, even Durmstrang. I feel like I am in a very strange in-between place. I am still a student, but I already have a job that I have participated in and must now put on hold. I don't wish to skip this year, and I don't wish that I'd started a year later with Vratsa – not at all, but I feel very strange. I feel not quite an adult, and not quite a child. It's just as well that I'm at Hogwarts. At least it's completely different – it might be worse at Durmstrang. The same old castle, the same old classes, the same old faces – I might have gone insane. Sometimes when the feeling gets too much I daydream of settling in a little cottage in the mountains. I should be able to afford it with another year at Vratsa, if not before then. Will you and Papa help me look? I know there is still plenty of time, but it staves away the craziness. Humor me?

Mama, I know what you will think of this transition – from settling into a home of my own, to talking about Hermione, and I won't pretend that in quiet moments I haven't had similar thoughts, but it is farther away than perhaps you realize, should such a thing ever come to fruition. And besides, I just wanted to save speaking of Hermione for last. The best, for last.

She is like the delicate strain of a harpsichord floating through the air, reminding you in the midst of a nightmare that there is hope, reminding you in the midst of a dream that there is sorrow. That is what it is like to know her.

There are things that some find upsetting about her, which I should just tell you now and get it over with. Her parents are muggles, professional people - doctors with specialties, if I understand her correctly. As I say, she is best friends with Harry Potter, which annoys most of the children of pureblood old money in the school – they seem to take it as a personal affront. (It is astounding to me how stupid children can be – who would declare such a loyalty to Voldemort in such a way, if they had any brains at all? Perhaps it is a British thing. Certainly we are more careful at home. Hm, perhaps it is a Western freedom of speech thing. At any rate, cultural issue or no, I think it incredibly stupid. Back to Hermione.) There are many aspects of wizarding life that she does not yet accept, the 'enslavement of house elves,' among them. Perhaps once she is content with being a war heroine she will continue on to be a major social reformer? Perhaps not, but she does have a determination that is remarkable, and it is combined with her intelligence, which is formidable – I wish never to be opposite an argument with her. But Mama, there is one last thing. Which should perhaps have been the first thing, and maybe you have guessed, if you've figured out the math. Her age; she is fourteen, or possibly fifteen – I know her birthday, but there is something about using a timeturner last year – apparently she used it quite a lot. And I am nearly eighteen. So she is four years, or possibly three years, but probably not two years younger than I am. Granted, fourteen and eighteen looks much different in my head than fifteen and seventeen, but regardless of age she has three years of school left, after this one. And, her parents are muggles, and in Britain muggles, especially professional muggles tend to marry later in life. (I checked.) Later, as in, mid to late twenties, or even later than that, rather than late teens. Not to say that she will follow that paradigm, but it hasn't actually come up in conversation yet, and as there is no way I could foresee, even at the end of a successful and hopeful year with her, inviting her to wait for three more years, attached to someone who is so far away… But I do wonder what might occur, should this turn out to be a successful and hopeful year for us, should we remain in contact, upon her graduation from Hogwarts. Then you may speculate, Mama. (And as you can tell, I have been thinking of this entirely too much. But I've been keeping up with my charms work, do not fear. And I've been improving some, I think.)

Enough for now. More later, assuming I have not been bested by the dragon that waits for me. (What an odd thing. It's an expression, of course, 'bested by the dragon that awaits,' but it is literally true this time.) Give Papa my love, and play my favorite prelude of Bach's? I love you, and I miss you,

_Viktor_

PS- I would love a cello for graduation. Together with my Firebolt, they would be my favored possessions, I think. But maybe you've already guessed that.

--

Viktor,

I have played you your prelude the morning of your trial. Such a hopeful tune for someone anticipating his immanent doom, Viktor. Your subconscious will hope for you, I suppose, even when your conscious would rather not. You will have receipt of this letter after besting your dragon – of which your father and I have no doubt you've done, despite whatever burns you may have acquired in the offing. Look at it this way – clearly Hermione likes boys with scars. You'll fit right in.

Your father was gratified to discover what use you found for your Beloved Firebolt. Quidditch may be cancelled, but you'll still need to practice, of course, and if you find out a thing or two that will help you in the challenges ahead, and find them out in an honest manner, who would have a problem with that? You are resourceful, and we are proud.

I will be plain in saying that it pains me to think that you might be touched by the filth of Voldemort, or the possibility of war, but I would be blind and irresponsible if I did not acknowledge that it is a possibility. The terrorism of the World Cup Finals was to me, a very clear message. I think it is true what you say – if there is to be another war, if Voldemort somehow returns to his previous strength (saints preserve us from such a time) then certainly the Witches and Wizards of Bulgaria will have to cast in their lots with the rest of Europe and Northern Africa. And if Mr. Harry Potter is to play the role of Saint George, am I to guess that you think he'll not play it alone? I am not so naive as to believe that the State will handle the things properly, but let us hope, if for no ones sake but Hermione's, that they will not be alone, and that wiser wizards than they will be amongst the counted heroes of the day. And Viktor – besides the wariness of the far-distant future, do be careful of your Professor Karkaroff. If Voldemort is to return sooner rather than later, it may be that your Headmaster turns out to be a wildcard. I would warn you against rashness, but rashness may be advisable if the worst comes to it. Let us pray that it will not, and prepare for it anyway. Have you any avenues to practice your dueling, dear? I strongly recommend charms and hexes for binding and disabling, the more obscure, the more difficult to block. You know my favorites.

In brighter, happier news, Hermione is a muggle-born? Well, that's not so bad as it once was. Mostly I worry for the difference in culture, but she's also British, and I'm not sure which aspect of the culture difference would be the most different from the one you've known all your life. She does have an interesting view on house-elves, however. Certainly if she ends up vanquishing Voldemort we shall have no problem with the neighbors, but even if it comes to it, I shall beat them into submission for you. What else is a mother good for, if not defending the choices of her children? We have raised you properly, Viktor, and we are not about to question your motives now. We are still looking forward to meeting her, and are very happy to consider you far more enlightened at a far younger age than we ourselves were.

Your father wishes me to include a certain point about Hermione. He believes that though you have already bested one dragon as a Champion, you still have one left to go. He thinks himself quite droll, your Papa does, when he compares Hermione, 'Viktor's Little Spitfire,' as he now calls her, to the dragon that awaits. I might have said nothing to you at all, but for two things. Though I dislike the allusion that you might be dating a dragon, I am rather fond of the 'Viktor's Little Spitfire' epitaph. It seems rather appropriate, from the bits that you've told us. Also, it has set your father laughing more in the last few days than in the past year, and as you come by your melancholy honestly, you can appreciate what a joy that has been for me, that your father laughs so freely at his own little joke.

Age, my dear, has very little to do with anything, I've noticed. You are right in thinking that it is not appropriate to propose tomorrow, perhaps, but I would not go so far as to ignore the possibility that after a 'successful and hopeful' year the future might not be an appropriate topic of conversation between the two of you. If it seems good to the two of you (and really, much can occur in one year, my love – I say this not at all to dissuade you, as I'm rather fond of the idea of you marrying a spitfire that doesn't care for Quidditch, I think it the absolute best thing, but rather I say it because in two months you may hate each other, or you may be asking for an altogether different sort of advice than you are now – which we will be happy to give, of course), you may be able to see each other with something approaching shocking frequency over her fifth and sixth year. You are not a young man without means, I would remind you, and travel is not the burden it once was. It may be easier to keep in contact, should you wish it, than you so tragically assume. And between her sixth and seventh year an engagement would not go amiss, should her parents approve. And do not despair on that account, either, Viktor. You must meet them before you even consider despair, and I must meet them before you actually despair.

Now that I have planned your wedding (humor me, and I shall find you a house as you request – you would live in the mountains, instead of in town), I will plan your graduation. A small gathering, but some of our closest friends will be there, your Godparents of course, and your new cello. It's beautiful –we've already picked it out. If you would like anything different, or have any particular requests, do make them known, my love. We shall do our best.

May your dreams contain the delicate strains of the spitfire harpsichord that you adore, and may your waking hours be safe and wholesome. God is with you.

Love,

_Mama_

--

...to be continued.


	4. Letters Home II

**Title**: Letters Home, 2/2  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Series**: A Firebolt Ring  
**Rating**: PG-13 for clear and concise conversations about sex  
**Word Count**: 6,298  
**Disclaimer**: Belongs to JKR and Associates.  
**Notes**: Well among other things, herein is addressed those hurtful things Hermione says of Viktor while she's in the library with Harry, just before the first trial – things along the lines of 'Oh, why doesn't he just go study on his ship?'  
Can't remember what went on in Viktor's head? I recommend you go back and reread Letters Home, part one, or at least the middle bits.

--

Dear Mum,

Lots of things going on this year at Hogwarts. Did you know… well, of course you couldn't, but can you believe that there are slaves in the wizarding world? It's true. It's absolutely disgusting. I'm going to send you a letter just about that issue alone, as I couldn't give you a proper survey of the situation in this letter. Suffice to say I'm not taking this information lying down. I've already started a bit of a plan, and I think it has a lot of potential. But more about that very soon.

Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is an ex-auror by the name of Alastor Moody. He's a bit odd, and quite honestly I find him creepy and his teaching methods repugnant, but he definitely knows what he's talking about. I'm sure we'll learn loads, by hook or by crook. His theme is "Constant Vigilance," which he shouts whenever he can. At least he's not the sort of person to let Voldemort kip under his turban, if you know what I mean.

There's to be a Tri-Wizard Tournament, which hasn't happened in a great number of years. It was cancelled because of the high number of deaths of those involved, but everyone says that they've made it a lot safer now. Of course, they've also made it so only those students over the age of consent can apply to be champions. It rather seems like they're trying to cover themselves, just in case it isn't actually one bit safer. I wonder that a day either way will make much of a difference? At any rate, it means that there are two dozen foreign students spending the year here. It's quite exciting, in that respect, but there are other things that make it less wonderful. But the good bits, first.

One of the foreign schools is in France, called the Beauxbatons Academy. The girls who come from there look as if they have come from a wizarding finishing school, but you never know. The information I have from the library is, of course, completely out of date. I suppose the Beauxbatons students are nice enough among themselves, but they're a bit snooty to everyone else, and they make quite the ruckus about the food here. But they arrived in a giant carriage (as big as a house!) towed by seven flying horses that are themselves, gigantic. And they live in that carriage, taking meals with us, and having classes somewhere off by themselves. I have a strong feeling that the inside of the carriage is larger than the outside, even as big as it is.

The other foreign school is from somewhere in Eastern Europe – probably a northern bit, as their uniforms involve quite a bit of fur and leather. Durmstrang Institute seems to be somewhat militaristic in nature (an interesting foil for Beauxbatons), and the boys that come from there fit the look. Still, they're politer than the Beauxbatons girls. They arrived in a ship that just popped up in the middle of the Black Lake. One minute there was a bit of a ripple, then next moment the masts were coming up from the water, like a submarine from the 1400's. Like the delegation from Beauxbatons, they live and have classes on their ship, but they eat meals with us, and that sort of thing.

And so, Tri-Wizard; Three wizards or witches from the three largest wizarding schools in Europe. It's a competition with three trials. The winner gets a bunch of galleons and "Eternal Glory". …but I doubt that last bit. I mean, no one around here can name the last winner of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I think "Eternal Glory" is highly over-rated. But anyway, only three champions compete… Or not, as is the case this year. Names are entered into a certain goblet, which is in this case is a magical device that then chooses the best applicants for the competition. For some unknown reason it chose four people this year, and one who's name shouldn't have been able to even be in the goblet. Can you guess? I bet you can. Harry Potter, who is definitely not seventeen.

And so, Ron is being an utter git, because he can't believe that Harry didn't enter his own name (of course they were teasing about it before hand, but it would be literally impossible for Harry to have done it – I really do think it was maliciousness on someone's part. I mean, people die in this tournament, and there are loads of people who would like to see Harry dead. Many nasty people would cheer if Harry did die in some freak accident, and really I just think the coincidence is too odd to have been a simple but odd mistake.), and the entire school resents Harry in ways large and small because he's taking the limelight away from the other Hogwarts Champion – the legitimate one (a cute seventh year Hufflepuff named Cedric). But Harry hates the limelight… So, at the moment I'm the only person who believes Harry and is willing to talk to him. Did I mention it's a nightmare? It's a nightmare. And we don't know what the first trial is – it's a secret, but there's a significant chance that it's something that could kill Harry. Not that Harry in perilous situations will be out of the ordinary, but good heavens – we know it's coming, and there's next to nothing we can do about it! A nightmare.

There's one good thing, in all of this. I've started seeing someone – a boy. His name is Viktor Krum, and he's from Bulgaria – he's here from Durmstrang. Actually, he's the Champion that was chosen from that school, but we've already discussed the fact that I have to cheer for Harry. (Funny, I'm not nearly as worried about Viktor as I am about Harry. I think in terms of raw power Harry might be stronger, but Viktor's had many more lessons, and much more practice. Also, Viktor actually enjoys his studies, as opposed to Harry. Of course, I'm still a little worried for Viktor. I mean, people _**die **_in this tournament.) I'd actually seen Viktor once before – at the Quidditch World Cup this summer. You remember me telling you about our amazing seats in the Top Box, right? Well, after the game was over, both teams were paraded in, the losing team first, then the winners. And do you remember me telling you about that amazing young seeker - "Best Seeker in the World," maybe even the history of the game, who caught the snitch but lost the game for Bulgaria? That was Viktor. Anyway, he's really quite sweet. He plays the cello, likes Charms and Arithmancy, and he's helping me with my fear of flying. His English is quite good, all things considered (it is his fourth language), but he doesn't think so. He's cute, but not in a traditional sense. He has broken his nose too many times to be a Calvin Klein model, but when he smiles he is beautiful. If we continue dating, I'm going to try to convince him to let a classmate of mine take our picture. If I can do it, I'll send you a copy.

I hope you and Dad are well. I'll tell the owl to stay for the night so you have time to write me back.

All my love,

_Hermione_

--

Hermione,

You've got a boyfriend? I'm glad that you've found someone you like well enough for such companionship. I've often wondered if something might develop between you and either Harry or Ron (yes, I'm well aware that you'll laugh and scoff at that), but Viktor sounds like a very interesting fellow. Let me see if I have it correctly: you are dating a seventeen year-old wizard with a crooked nose who is a professional athlete, his school's champion, a musician, and who knows four languages, enjoys spellcasting and maths? He sounds like quite an individual. (All that, _**and **_Harry Potter. After all of this new information we have about that horrible Lord Voldemort, the idea of the _Boy Who _Lived is quite a bit clearer to us. Your Father and I find it interesting that you're dating a well-rounded world-class athlete and that one of your best friends is the savior of the Wizarding World. You boggle our minds, Hermione my dear.) We look forward to a picture, if you manage to get one, particularly if it is a wizarding photo. It is always so telling to see what happens between the subjects, in those photos.

Hermione, I'm sure you'll recall the conversation we had about sex and masturbation over the summer. I bring this up again because I want you to be aware of what is going on inside your body and inside his, in your relationship with Viktor. I realize that you might not believe that this conversation is necessary – I remember vividly your admonitions to me over the summer – but I also have some experience and I would be failing you as a Mother if I didn't point out a few pitfalls.

First of all, as a seventeen year old boy, he may act in a variety of ways – he may be very respectful of your feelings and your physical space, and he may not be – but if he is attracted to you (which one would assume, as you are dating) no matter how he chooses to act, he will be feeling certain things. Some boys are better at balancing their feelings, and some boys are better on acting them out before they think too deeply on the subject. If he makes you feel uncomfortable at any time – touching you where you do not wish to be touched just yet, for example – do not be afraid to explicitly set your own boundaries. Boundary setting is something we all do, all the time, but we don't always do it explicitly.

Second, if he is attracted to you such attraction may manifest in physical forms outside of his control. Such physiological changes we have discussed before, but to briefly recount them, a rapid heartbeat, dilated pupils, elevated body temperature, and a hardening penis. And remember, if it comes to that and he has become hard, he really will have less blood in the rest of his system, including his brain, with which to think the matter over, and if you are standing very close to him, this will be something you can feel.

Third, I know that you are now approximately fifteen and three-quarters (I do wish you had at least **told **us about the timeturner use – we missed your actual birthday last year!) and that certainly by sixteen many girls have started their sexual exploration. I appreciate that you have shied away from this subject in the past, but ignorance will not serve you at all, Hermione, and it is quite unlike you. At this point I must admit my own bias – I would much rather you experiment with self-induced passion than experiment with a partner, at least for the present. But, I am not so naive as to think that Viktor has not thought of such experimentation, with you as a partner.

No, Hermione. On this I must insist – you may have all of the high ideals that you wish to have (if you indeed have them on this point), and he may indeed be acting as a perfect gentleman, but he is also a seventeen year-old boy His gentlemanly behavior and his hormones are not mutually exclusive. His desire to have sex with you does not in any way diminish his honor. Many a perfect gentleman has had intriguingly wonderful sex with beautiful young ladies; the romance industry thrives on that very point. The desire doesn't make or break his gentlemanly behavior, you understand. It is what and how he chooses to act on his desire, just as it is what and how you choose to act on your own that defines you as a person. Sex is not bad, though many people may try to tell you different, or infer it, if they do not say anything directly. Rather, it is how we use sex that can be bad or good: do we use it to build our intimate relationships, is it an outlet of joy, is it safe? Or is it used as a tool for gaining and exercising power over another person, is it an act of fear, is it hurting someone?

Returning to my original point, of sexual experimentation, I highly recommend that you begin on your own, though not necessarily 'alone'. That is to say that it is no use trying to experiment when you are not already aroused, particularly if you are not quite experienced already. I recommend that you experiment after you've been thinking of him, or kissing him, or something of the sort. Your mind and your senses work in tandem, and thoughts of him may be nearly as powerful as one of his kisses. (And if his kisses aren't doing anything for you at all, this is something we need to discuss. By all rights they should be making your insides turn to jelly.) I won't go into the details of masturbation again, as you have the material I gave you in June, you have the toy which I'm sure you've hidden at the bottom of your trunk, and you have me here, if you have any other questions.

Fourth, I would have you remember that should you choose to engage in sexual experimentation with Viktor, there are two key things to remember. First, you need only go so far as you are willing to go, but make this explicit from the beginning and keep to your word. It is unfair to both of you if boundaries for an encounter get trod upon, or the line toed too far. What you do in this instance speaks far louder than what you say. This point will require some reflection on your part, and if such experimentation looks to be nearing at any point, it may be a fair topic for conversation between the two of you. Communication, my dear, is absolutely key. Also recall that there is much involved with the sex act – a good encounter is more than just a penis in a vagina, and experimentation may start and stop at any point along the web of possibilities. Second, should you and Viktor decide that among the encounters you wish to have will be his penis in your vagina, you **MUST** procure protection. If you need it, I will send it to you. Are there spells or potions for this sort of thing? Do not use them until you are certain what side-effects they might have, both in the short-term and the long-term.

Fifth, remember that when you become physically intimate (a different thing from sexually intimate, but sometimes a precursor) with someone, it helps if it is mirrored, or preceded by emotional intimacy. Certainly when sexual intimacy slowly slides into the picture, similar or deeper levels of emotional intimacy must be present, or else you are in danger of leaving a sexual encounter with great physical satisfaction, while emotionally a bit of you is dying off. I would save you from such things, my dear.

You are going to have quite the busy year, Hermione. I hope the rest of the school comes around soon – it must be trying to be in the middle between friends who are feuding. And I do hope that Harry will be alright. Your Father and I have no doubt at all that this might be the latest attempt on his life – you are right, it does make sense – and it pains us to think that others might be injured in the attempt. The Tournament in general sounds interesting, if it weren't for the disturbing aspect of Harry's forced participation. You'll have to keep us updated on what the trials are, and who ends up doing what. (We are consistently amazed by the differing modes of travel prevalent amongst witches and wizards of means. What next, flying carpets?)

Write soon. I can't wait to hear of the ills and excesses of Wizarding Culture, and the campaign you must have brewing in your head by now.

Love,

_Mum_

--

Hermione was so frustrated, she could spit. Ron was still being an utter git, Harry was being clueless but well-meaning, Viktor's fan club was tempting her toward mass homicide, and her mother was dispensing sex advice. It was the week before the first trial and everyone was getting on her nerves. It had gotten so bad in the library that she'd begun to make her exit when Viktor came in, just to avoid those annoying girls. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that lately, when he looked at her, she couldn't help but to wonder if his pupils were dilated or not.

And to top it all off, she'd said some rather rude things, in his hearing. She was just so angry at the time, but several steps out of the library she'd begun to cool off and regretted it dearly. He _might_ not have heard. He _might_ not have understood. He _might_ not have realized she was talking about him… But he might have. Hermione had just been terribly rude to someone she really rather liked, someone she had just recently snogged – alright, the only person on the face of the earth that she'd ever snogged – and she hadn't meant it they way it came out, only she was still very frustrated and angry, and now she just didn't know what to say, or do.

So, she studied instead. She studied, kept her head down and swallowed the utter shame she felt whenever they were in the same room together. Thursday after dinner she couldn't bear to actually go to the library, so she tried to study in the Common Room instead. She knew she'd see him later that night, and she couldn't for the life of her bring herself to attempt to study in the unbearable tension of the library. Maybe it was all in her head, but she wouldn't put any sort of money on that.

Eight o'clock came all too soon.

Hermione braided her hair back and shrunk her coat and scarf to fit in the pocket of her jeans. She had researched two different warming charms, and a windbreak charm that she had wanted to try out, and this would be a perfect chance. And of course, there was also Viktor, she thought swallowing thickly. Not that she'd had all that many opportunities to gather data, but he rather seemed to be like a stone taken out of the embers of the fire. He was just always warm, and whenever they were close, he seemed to make _her_ quite warm.

Turning a corner on the ground floor, she accidentally walked through the White Lady, and as usually occurs with such things, she was shocked out of her musings. It was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. She gasped a bit and shivered, unwilling to take heed to the ghost's admonition that she ought to take more care as she rounded corners. Rudeness or not, Hermione was presently brought back to the situation at hand. She paused before reaching the outer doors to the cloister. She cast the spells reflexively and waved her left hand quickly in the air. She could feel the pressure of the air, but it was different, and she didn't quite feel the attendant chill. So far, so good.

Looking over to the small door, beyond which Viktor might already be waiting, Hermione felt keenly that this meeting might very well be the end of their incredibly beautiful, and somewhat fragile young relationship. After all, she had been thoughtless and mean, and he hadn't spoken to her once after her cruel words about him in the Library. Summoning the courage of her house, Hermione went to face the unknown.

_He doesn't hate me!_

Hermione was so relieved she could cry. Despite feeling emotionally wrung out, she couldn't keep back a small smile that reached all the way to her eyes, waiting for Viktor to rise from his elegant bow. His hand in hers was hot, his breath was hot, but his lips were cool, and the mix of sensations all focused in one tiny area did odd things to her body that were as invigorating as they were confusing.

It wasn't that it was difficult to think at times like this, she would later muse, but that it far easier than usual to _feel_, and feel she did. It was like her body, her sense of being, was bigger than it actually was; it was as if her skin could feel beyond its own edge, could feel inches upon inches away from herself and out into the world. Still, the glorious new sensate world didn't detract from the look on his face when he finally did face her.

Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought perhaps that Viktor had been thinking dark thoughts, troubling thoughts. It wasn't as if he didn't have plenty of darkness to dwell on, really. It might have been anything, and probably wasn't her. Still, she felt for him, and wondered if there was anything she could do to help. But before she could act on her empathy, she really needed to apologize, and apologize in perhaps a general fashion, in case he hadn't actually overheard her after all. It wouldn't do to bring his attention to it now, if he hadn't heard – that would be particularly mean, she thought.

The preface to her apology stumbled out, falling from her mouth like some noxious and slippery thing that refused to be swallowed, and refused to stay still. His hand was still hot in hers and it was the thing that grounded her in her humility, it was the thing that was connecting with her own courage, and reminding her that no matter the outcome, she could do this thing.

But he cut her off. His own apologies were beautiful – soft, melodic, halting and exceedingly remorseful. She accepted them at once, and begged for her own. Hermione's heart soared as she was forgiven, and the look on Viktor's face matched her own. It was a moment that seemed like it was going to last forever, but it was cut quite short.

Hermione watched as Viktor's eyes darted around the deserted cloister. "Ve fly now?"

She let go of his hand and nodded, still feeling slightly shaken by his request. It was very practical, of course, and she should have thought that it wouldn't be the best idea to have this conversation just here, in their present location. Rather like having the ghost float through her, the question shook Hermione from her thoughts and into observation mode.

Hermione watched as her striking boyfriend placed his broom in the air and deftly flicked open the jacket that was better suited for Siberian winters than Scottish ones. She was struck, perhaps for the first time since she'd seen him through Omnioculars at the World Cup Finals, at his physical form. He wasn't shaped like most seekers, but instead had a broad strong chest and a pair of corresponding large and powerful thighs. He really was an _athlete_. And besides which, while he wasn't incredibly tall, he was not a small person to begin with, before adding on all of the muscles. His hands were big, his shoulders were wide, and his waist was thick. He looked rather like the rugby players she'd seen on television at home, actually.

But as she referenced the appearance of his physique and thought about, well, his body, she realized that it wasn't the case of his clothes being so skin-tight that she could see irrevocable evidence of his musculature. His clothes just fit snugly, and she herself had fit snugly to his form on more than one occasion. No, his clothes just fit him well, and especially when he was out of his brown uniform as he was this evening, Hermione could tell that this was the figure of a boy who had grown into his body as a man. It was an intriguing thought, really, that Viktor was on the cusp of adulthood in a way that none of her friends were. Ron was certainly a boy, and a little boy at times. Harry was still the Boy Who Lived, and even Cedric Diggory – the strong, handsome seventh year that he was – was still in the 'boy' category. And so was Viktor… sort of. But Viktor was quickly edging out of 'boy' and into 'man'.

And this not-entirely-boy but not-quite-man was holding his hand out to her expectantly, looking at her with soft, dark eyes that could easily melt the hardest heart, if only given half a chance. Before she could start forward, his features became troubled again, and he relaxed his arm, still waiting for her, but clearly confused. "You no vear varm clothes. Don't vant to fly tonight?"

For once, Hermione had no wish to quickly provide an answer. In fact, what she most wanted to do was kiss him, and maybe rid him of that troubled look, the tightened brow and tense eyes. She wanted to kiss the tight corner of his jaw, and right above the bridge of his nose. She wanted to kiss the corner of his lips, where his goatee faded into soft, smooth skin. She wanted to line his forehead with kisses, just above his dark eyebrows, and then maybe kiss his lips.

She didn't, of course. They were still in the cloister, but neither did she provide her original reasoning concerning the testing of newly learned spells. She'd tell him about that later. In the meantime, she wrapped her uncharacteristic and momentary silence around her like a blanket and took his hand. Scooting onto the broom and settling herself back into him, she sighed imperceptibly. Yes, this was how it was supposed to feel. Her body heavy against his, and her head as light as air, she remembered again the heat he radiated. Like a stone taken from the embers of a fire, was Viktor. She grinned a little to herself before the grin faded and her eyes widened. She was just so very aware of his body, his heat, and his presence. Was this what her mother had been talking about? Was this sexual arousal? Surely not – they hadn't even kissed, and she wasn't even thinking about sex, per se… But the feeling of his body was overwhelming, and the _heat…_ Hermione's mind focused his question she'd refused to answer just a moment before, finding that she had something of an answer for him now, a true answer, if not the first line of her own reasoning.

Turning her head down and around toward him, she murmured her reply and only a moment later his legs were tucked up underneath her, his arm was tight around her, and he was bending them very slowly down until he could grip the handle of his broom. Hermione felt the warm tickle of his breath before she felt his lips as they brushed the edge of her ear. It was right before they took off, their quick acceleration pressing her even more firmly into Viktor's embrace.

--

Dear Mum,

I've been thinking about age and time a lot, you know, the hours that make up the days that make up the years of our lives. Is it the number of hours you've lived, the experiences you've had or the people you've known that mark your age? Or something else? Or a combination? Without the timeturner, I'd be just now fifteen, but if you count the number of hours I've lived, I'm three months away from sixteen, which by all rights is an excellent and celebratory age. But is it a real sixteen? What's my emotional age? You've always said that I'm emotionally mature – so has my body just caught up, or have they advanced together, so now emotionally I would rate with the seventh years, even though I've only just begun my fourth year? I've tried talking about this with Ginny, but she just gives me a look and says that I've twisted her brain in half. I don't feel like I'm twisting my own brain in half, but I do very much want to know the answer. How old am I, really? This shouldn't be a difficult question. Is it the number of days from my birth? The number of hours I've lived? The level of schooling I've attained? The respective ages of my friends? The level of responsibility I've been asked to assume, and accepted? I know that at different points in my life age won't be as important, but it's rather important now. There are things I can and cannot do because of my age, because we rightly believe that children can't totally understand the fullness of consequences, etc, etc. I fully accept that. But it makes me wonder, what exactly is my status, then? And if my status is different, then what does that mean? Does it mean that to fully enjoy all of the rights and responsibilities that I may be prepared for now, or next year, that I just simply bide my time until the least common denominator catches up and I graduate from Hogwarts? I suppose it must. The prospect is not at all a comforting one, but I have the advantage of having a full schedule to occupy my time.

This year is, of course, not nearly as academically challenging as last year, but between helping Harry to survive the tournament, dating Viktor, and crusading for Elvish welfare (and the attending knitting that must be done) the days do manage to fill themselves.

Speaking of the Tournament, Harry and Viktor are tied for first place. The first trial was dragons – can you believe it? DRAGONS! There were four nesting female dragons, and each one – for each of the champions – had a golden egg that is a clue to the next trial, stashed with their own eggs. The champions had to choose a dragon from a sack (a miniature toy dragon, but animated and with the same personality as its mum) and then they had to get the egg away from the dragon.

Aside from the danger inherent, it was quite, …telling… as to how the champions did it. (And all the while, Fred & George were running a book on it. Viktor was 5/1. Harry was 40/1. Cedric and Fleur were somewhere between.) Anyway, Cedric went first, and after mucking about for a while (time is a factor – why would you muck about?) he transfigured a rock into a dog, and tried to get his dragon, a Swedish Short-Snout to go after the dog, which it mostly did, right up until the point where it didn't, and Cedric got his egg, but he also got a trip to Madam Pomphrey, and so he got points off for that. It was a good transfiguration, but sort of frightening, when you think about it. I mean, I know it was only a rock, really, but he did sacrifice the dog for himself. Don't you think that's a little scary? It was a beautiful dog – a black lab, and it reminded me of, well, I'm sure if you think, you'll figure out who it reminded me of.

Anyway, Fleur was next, and she too mucked about. Actually, everyone ended mucking about, Harry least of all, but even Harry, a bit. I must ask Viktor about that. I mean, why muck about? Then again, perhaps it's the shock of seeing the dragon. Hm. Anyway, Fleur didn't use her wand until the end. She danced, and sang, and put her dragon to sleep, but it snored and she was in the way. She had to put the flames out with her wand, and that cost her points, but she did get the job done quite neatly, except for the snoring. It did take some time for her to seduce the dragon to sleep, though, but it worked like… well, it worked like a charm, really.

Viktor was third in line. I'm sorry to say that he too mucked about, but he came to it pretty quickly and used a curse to blind his dragon – a Chinese Fireball – and the curse was perfect, but then he had to actually get the egg. The dragon was not happy about being blind and was thrashing about and accidentally crushed some of her own eggs – Viktor got points off for that, he wasn't supposed to harm the dragon, or her eggs – but he did managed to get the egg without any harm to himself, which none of the other champions managed. Rather direct in his approach, Viktor.

Harry finished with the quickest time. We worked on the summoning charm all night long until he could accio any and everything in the room. He summoned his broom, and then teased his dragon – a Norwegian Ridgeback, the nastiest of the bunch – until the dragon got too far away from her eggs and then he swooped in and grabbed the egg. The dragon got him in the arm on the way by, though, and he got some points off for that. And he would have been in first place if Viktor's headmaster hadn't given him a 4 of 10. (Viktor I'm quite fond of. Viktor's headmaster I'm not.)

But I was thinking about how Harry conquered his dragon, and I was thinking about how Viktor was very bold, which is like him, Fleur was very seductive, which is like her, Cedric was actually a bit smarmy, which one does wonder about, and Harry… was unusually patient. I mean, he was on a broom, and that boy can do amazing things on a broom – rather like Viktor in that way, actually – and so perhaps that accounts for it. But I do wonder… I wonder what Voldemort would have done, assuming that he couldn't outright kill the thing, or torture it into oblivion, or make it obey his will, which I'm sure would be among his first choices. Harry teased the dragon, luring it farther and farther away until it was just too far away and then he swooped in. It would make a good battle strategy. It sounds like things Voldemort did twenty years ago.

Oh, but enough of that. Viktor is doing well. I haven't seen him since the trial. He wasn't in the library yesterday, but I expect I'll see him around here somewhere soon. I'll take your words from your previous letter under advisement, but I don't expect to unearth your gift to me from the depths of my trunk anytime soon. As it is I spent a good portion of our last date wondering if his eyes were dilated. I think I'll just play it by ear for now, but I'll let you know if we get serious and start having any sort of pre-sex conversations. And do not worry – his kisses have thus far rendered me a speechless, mindless puddle. I quite enjoy them, and I believe the feeling is mutual.

I'll write again soon, and make sure the owl says overnight for your response. Give my love to dad for me.

All my love,

_Hermione_

--

Hermione,

I shall leave your romance to your own good judgment, but do remember that I am here if you need someone to talk to, or if you have any questions. Any at all, dear – you know I am difficult to shock. I am glad to hear that you are enjoying snogging your young man, however. Quite the St. George, isn't he? He's a bit like David Beckham and Bruce Lee, combined. Except, Eastern European, Magical, and it was a Chinese dragon, not a Chinese gangster.

Dragons. Good heavens. Just when your father and I think that the Wizarding World can't shock us anymore, there's something new. It is one thing to read about it in a book, and quite another thing to hear your off handed account of the matter. Hermione Jane Granger, please, if you ever have the option to avoid it, do not battle a dragon. Or if you must, make it a worthwhile endeavor – do it to save Harry's life (for if we are discussing you battling dragons, it must involve young Mr. Potter). Don't do it for some silly tournament.

It's a slow news day in London, I'm afraid. Your father has decided that it is now important to us to have Internet access and electronic mail addresses. He thinks it's going to be the next big thing. I tell him that if he thinks so, then he ought to invest in some of the stock, but that only produced silence. He's been rather thoughtful since then, however, so you never know. We may diversify our portfolio even more. I know how you like to keep tabs on what is going on in the Muggle World, so I thought I'd tell you: The Internet. Everything has got to be multi-media here, and there you're using candles and quills. Is the ball-point pen such an advance in technology that it must not be adopted, I wonder? Would electronics work in households where Magic is prevalent? I wonder if there are books in your school library about the interactions between Muggle technology and the use of Magic. It would be an interesting topic for research. The practice is going well, and the Jenkinses say hello. Your father sends his love, and so do I.

Love,

_Mum_

--

...to be continued.


	5. Extra Handy Skill

**Title**: Handy Extra Skill  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Claim**: Viktor/Hermione  
**Prompt**: (07) Quidditch  
**Rating**: G  
**Disclaimer**: Prompt from Potterverse 100. Characters the property of JKR and associated persons and corporations.  
**Notes**: This scene occurs in the late spring, during year four, just before the third trial in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. This is a part of my Firebolt Ring series. For those of you who have been following along with the series and not the prompts, this skips waaaay ahead.

*

Most of Hermione was thrilled – an opportunity like this was rare, and rare opportunities to learn underneath the tutelage of masters were things that she did not give up lightly. But there was a tiny slice of her, say 2.7% of her, which wondered what on earth she'd gotten herself into. By the time Hermione had walked over to the abandoned Quidditch Pitch, however, she'd managed to squash that niggling 2.7% like a bug. After all, much of her clandestine activities throughout the year had led to this moment. It was vaguely reminiscent of last year, when she thought about it. She had used the time turner all year long, and then had saved Buckbeak and Sirius with it at the end of the second term. All this year she'd been flying with Viktor, and now… Now she was going to fly by herself – admittedly saving no one's life in the process, but wasn't it nice to have a calmer year, a year in which the only clandestine activities had been to help Harry with the tournament and sneak out to see her boyfriend?

That same boyfriend was standing just on the inside of the pitch, near the door, Firebolt in hand. He was, she thought briefly and not for the first time, just amazing. She found him handsome (though not in any sort of traditional sense), intelligent, sensitive, athletic (not normally something she found appealing in a person, and yet he had converted her in this sense), and well, just plain appealing. It was the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he held her when they rode on his broom, the way boldness was a better fit than subterfuge for him, and the way he cared about who she was and what she felt. The fact that he was an absolutely lovely kisser had nothing to do with her high opinion of him, of course.

Smiling at him as she got closer, she held out her hand to him at the last and they twined fingers as she took her final step toward him. Hermione took a deep, contented breath, breathing in the glorious late spring air of the mountains, and Viktor.

"Hi," she said softly, looking up into his face.

"Hi," he mirrored, leaning down slightly to kiss her. Their lips met and, briefly, the touch was simple. Within the space of three heartbeats, though, he had inhaled, and with it opened his lips. He did not have to beg long at the entrance of her mouth, if at all, and the same thrill that had become an old friend in the past months shivered through her body when her tongue slipped around his.

Slowly, gently, they parted and spent a moment together that was simply quiet. In a movement that seemed almost sudden in comparison, Viktor grinned and tugged on her hand, pulling her along to walk next to him until they got past the sandy end of the pitch.

Hermione watched as Viktor let go of her hand and stood to face her. With both hands on his beloved Firebolt, and holding it vertical in front of him, he closed his eyes and muttered something that was certainly not in English or Latin. She didn't dare speak until he opened his eyes and let his concentration lapse.

"What was that?"

"Broom has some spells on it. I make it okay for you to be riding on it, for little vhile."

Hermione took a moment to digest this and tried to figure out what sort of spells Viktor had on his broom. She'd never noticed before, but then it probably hadn't mattered before – he was always on the broom with her, before. She'd have to think about it later, look up a few things, because just now he was handing her the broom. She swallowed thickly, and was suddenly just this side of slightly apprehensive. This was not lost on Viktor.

"Remember, Hermione – Firebolt is your friend. It vill not throw you or fail to obey you. Is good broom, and you," he paused for emphasis, "are _good flier_. Remember?"

She took a deep breath and fixed a look of determination on her face. "Yes, I do," she answered decisively.

"Good. Ve put you through paces, then I teach something new. Is okay?" She nodded and he continued his instruction. "Okay. So. You mount broom, like you see me in time before. Then you do two circles round entire pitch, then return." Viktor motioned as he slowly spoke. "First circle von vay, next circle other vay. This is doing four things," he said, holding up four fingers, and ticking them back as he made his list. "Von, you varm up. Two, you make big turn. Three, you make little turn. Four, you stop. Basic to fly. Go fast or slow, votever."

Hermione nodded wordlessly. This wasn't tough, and it wasn't a test. But if that were true, why were there butterflies in her stomach? On the broom was easy – at this point the Firebolt really was her friend, and did actually do as she told it to – but it did feel rather odd to have the entire broom to herself with no large, soft-spoken figure holding her from behind. Still, it was comfortable in a new way to be able to stretch along the length of the stick, as it was made for such riding.

She tried kicking off without actually kicking. Riding tandem with Viktor she had felt him do it time and time again. He seemed to simply hold on tight with hands and legs, and throw himself slightly forward. Hermione followed suit, but added to the mix an intense desire for the broom to move, just in case that helped. She was rewarded with actual, bonified movement. Soaring around the pitch in delight, Hermione was grinning ear to ear when she heard Viktor call after her.

"Faster than that!"

She didn't dare turn her head to scowl at him for fear that she might actually turn the broom as well, but instead she took a moment to analyze her speed. Well, now that she was looking at it objectively, she was going at the equivalent of a saunter. Perhaps she could go just a tiny bit faster. She leaned forward – it always seemed to work for Harry, after all – but found that she was just uncomfortably stretched without going any faster, and resumed her former and reasonably comfortable riding posture.

How on earth did you make the thing go faster? How could it be a racing broom if it didn't go?

Hermione decided to try willing it to go faster, imagining herself zooming, the wind on her face. She was quite successful – unexpectedly so – and gave a little yelp as the goal posts loomed rather closer than she had expected. Before she knew it she was finished with the tasks Viktor had set her, and she'd even managed to stop the broom herself – bit of a panic moment, there at the end – rather than plow into her handsome instructor. Then he had her do zigzags side-to-side going down the field, and then zigzags going up and down as she came back, all indicated with his hands, as words failed him. She raced up and down the field four times, as fast as she could dare, and practiced a sort of stop that Viktor had no word in English for, but that stopped her on a dime when she finally mastered it, and whipped the broom around in the opposite direction. She beamed when she had perfected that one, and when she returned to him for further instruction he gave her a well-deserved kiss.

"You now have all basic flying skills to play Qvidditch," he announced. Hermione thought it there must be rather more to it than that, and didn't fancy being in any place where bludgers were likely to strike without warning, but she smiled, happy nonetheless.

"Many extra skills, but I teach my favorite, okay?" Hermione nodded and he continued. "Fly vit no hands."

Hermione blanched, visibly.

"Is good skill, not just for Seeker, not just for Qvidditch. On broom, many things could be doing vit hands." Viktor gave her a meaningful look, and while she wasn't sure what image he'd meant to convey, all she could think of was what Viktor had been doing lately with his hands while he flew on the Firebolt. She blushed. He smirked.

"I teach you now, okay?" Hermione nodded. "Sit on broom, like vhen you fly." As he'd been talking she had been sitting up straight with her feet dangling, but she adjusted herself and waited for his instruction. Viktor took a step closer and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Vhen fly vit hands, much… em, veight is on hands. Just sit on broom, and do no vork." Hermione gave him a disbelieving glance. If he thought this was no work, he really didn't have the faintest clue of how much she was exerting herself. He continued to teach, ignoring the faces she was making at him. "Vhen fly vit no hands, must balance. Hold vit muscles."

At that, Hermione had to interrupt. "Viktor," she said in a complete deadpan, meaning every word of it. "I don't have any muscles. Perhaps you've noticed. I get winded if I run down the hill to Hagrid's."

"Hermione," he said, looking at her in the eye, "You are alife. You have muscles." He nodded his head. "You don't…" he said, pausing to find the word, "stress them much, so vhen you try something and use muscles, they say _no! Ve vill not!_"

Hermione giggled at the completely ridiculous high-pitched voice that Viktor had designated for her muscles.

"Is true. You know, is true."

She just rolled her eyes and nodded. It was, sadly.

"So," he continued on, undaunted. "Vhen fly vit no hands, must hold vit mucles. Here." And with that Viktor commenced to indicate exactly which muscle groups Hermione had to use. He held one hand on her stomach and one on her lower back for a moment. "Here, tight." When she only nodded, he said more intently, "Now, you are making tight." His hands squeezed her slightly for emphasis.

"Good." His hands left her torso and she felt one hand on her foot. "Tight against. Both. Good." Viktor was slightly behind her now, and reach around so that one hand was on the outside of each thigh. "Out and in, make both tight to hold broom." Hermione could feel the slight shift against his hands as her legs flexed. Suddenly his hand was on her tummy, patting it harshly. "Tight!" She scowled. It wasn't easy, but she tried to keep all of the muscle groups he'd mentioned tight, while breathing.

"Good," he said, and she could tell that the torturer was smiling. "Now, let go."

Hermione gritted her teeth and flexed her fingers. She tightened all those muscle groups one more time and let go of the broom, her hand hovering just bare centimeters off their target. She was doing it – she was doing it! Hermione lifted her hands from the broom completely and hung suspended – rather like a Seeker mid-flight – and whooped with joyful laughter at her accomplishment.

And then she fell off.

Or, at least she began to fall the moment she started laughing and not paying attention to holding tight with her muscles. Thankfully, Viktor was there, hands high on her ribcage, and it didn't deter her in the least. She kept laughing.

"Did you see? Did you see?"

"Yes," he responded, a huge grin on his face. He had set her back on the broom, upright, but his hands lingered on her waist. "Ve continue?" Hermione smiled at him in the affirmative, and he put a hand gently over her heart. "Stop, Go, Go fast, is all from here." Viktor moved his hands, sliding the one at her waist down over the curve, resting it over the back pocket of her jeans – and making her inhale slightly – and placing the other on the top of her thigh. "Left, Right, Up, Down, is all from here. Tight against vit feet and hold vit legs."

He made some motions with his hands, indicating certain moments and parts of the broom to indicate the physics of it all. Her thighs were the fulcrum and her feet were the leverage against the brass bootbraces. It was all very logical the way it worked out. The only problem, really, was Hermione getting her body to cooperate in a consistent manner.

To that end, Viktor had her work through all the previous drills without using her hands. Suffice to say she didn't get far using the muscles in her abdomen and back to keep her up, and so she was allowed to rest her elbows on her thighs, but she did manage to learn to navigate the broom with her legs, which she later counted as a major coup. By the time the lesson was over, she was mentally and physically worn out, but exceedingly pleased with her progress. When she finally hopped off the broom she barely had time to shake out her legs before she was gathered up in swoop and swung around in a circle.

"Hermione, you vere brilliant!" It seemed all like all of his enthusiasm had been postponed while he was instructing her until this moment, when he finally let himself go. Hermione laughed out loud, still held somewhat aloft in his arms, holding tightly and smiling hugely. As she settled back to earth, leaning heavily against his form, she basked in the moment, just beaming. After a while she registered a look on his face that she had gotten to know rather well. It was the Viktor Wants To Kiss You look, and as fate would have it, Hermione found it rather irresistible. Before anything of the sort could happen, however, he pulled away slightly, snagging both her hand and the still hovering broom and tugged her toward the stands.

"Come," he said softly. "Ve talk for little vhile."

END.


	6. Body Image

**Title**: Body Image  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Disclaimer**: JKR  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 1300  
**Series**: _**A Firebolt Ring**_ – sometime in the rather distant future from the rest of what's being written currently.  
**Claim**: VK/HG  
**Prompt**: #100, Writer's Choice: Body Image  
**Author's Note**: This is for my Potterverse100 claim. In my head this takes place in my FR series, some amorphous time just before or just after the war when the two rediscover each other. This is the advent of a deeper physical intimacy between the couple. In other news, ::sigh:: I've been reading perhaps too much feminist theology. Perhaps not enough. This is for everyone, male or female, who ever thought they were something less than perfectly desirable. And thanks to LadyKes for the excellent beta!

*

"Beautiful."

She snorted in derision, and his hand slowed.

"You are disagreeing vit me?" He watched as emotions crossed her face, one after another; confusion, disbelief, contempt, and finally dismissal. She rolled her eyes and sighed, and Viktor wondered if this could possibly be what he thought it was.

"Do you not see that you are beautiful?" Again he asked a question of her, and again she rolled her eyes and sighed in response. Viktor shifted slightly, sliding off to the side and propping his elbow on the pillow, cradling his head in one hand, as the other lay on the curve of her pale stomach. Her casual, and somehow brutal dismissal of her own beauty bothered him in a way he wouldn't have been able to anticipate. It was more than a little worrying. The current level of their physical intimacy didn't mesh with this newly introduced understanding of her self, and Viktor found it deeply confusing. Also, it was slowly killing his arousal.

"I am seeing that you do not believe you are beautiful. Okay. But vy is this so?"

She sighed again, and finally spoke. "Viktor," she started in a humorously long-suffering tone. "I don't have to think myself beautiful to have sex with you."

"But you believe you are not beautiful, even vit much evidence to contrary. As someone who loves you deeply, I vish to be knowing vhy this is. Vill you tell me?"

"Viktor, look, I'm just plain, okay? I'm not ugly, I'm not beautiful, in fact, I blend into the scenery. I'm too short, my hips are too wide, my breasts are too small, my stomach is too big, my arse is too lumpy, my hair is too thick, my posture is terrible, and I don't smile nearly enough to be beautiful."

Viktor was in a mild state of shock.

"Hermione, do you believe these things that you say?"

"I wouldn't be saying them otherwise, Viktor," she replied in the same long-suffering tone.

"Who told you these things that you believe?"

She sighed again. "No one told me, per se, but I'm not blind, you know. I have eyes, I have ears, I know what I'm supposed to look like and I know that I've yet to reach that ideal on many levels. Mostly I don't care."

"Mostly?"

"Mostly. But you just, I mean, a minute ago…" She trailed off, and for the first time Viktor saw her falter. "You called me beautiful, and you don't need to. That's all I'm saying," Hermione stated plainly, and Viktor wondered if he imagined the quiver in her voice. "You don't have to do that," she said, once again all business, "and I'd prefer it if you didn't stretch the truth, just to flatter me."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. "You think I am lying to you, to make you feel good?"

"Lying is such a strong word, but if you insist upon using it, then yes. I do think that."

"I vos not lying. I vos describing truth, as I understand truth being." Viktor looked at her for a long moment before continuing. "Maybe is cultural thing. Come," he said, rolling off the bed and pulling her along after him. "Ve continue in front of mirror."

One would think from Hermione's general reluctance to go along with Viktor's intended scheme that she did not trust him implicitly, or in fact that she in some way did not wish to be in her present situation, both of which could not be farther from the truth. Their choice to become thusly intimate, the sort of intimate that had them giggling and touching on his bed, clad only in their underwear and fully prepared to do more, had come only after much conversation on the topic. And in fact, Hermione did quite literally trust Viktor with her life, and the lives of her family and closest friends – his would be the trio's safe-house over the summer, and it would be Viktor who would take care to secure her family's home against the Death Eaters.

And yet, he was forced to physically pull her toward the full-length mirror that sat on the other side of the master suite in his home in the mountains.

"I accept," he began, holding onto her shoulders as she stood in front of him facing the mirror, "that ve are talking on cross-purposes. I hear you say that there are… points of your body that you do not approve of. Do I hear you right?"

"Yes," Hermione replied stoically, "You've got it right."

"Now I vish you to hear me, and vot I think, vot I feel."

"Viktor," she piped up immediately. "It's not your body, you don't get a vote."

"Ah, but you do not know vot I say yet. You might like to hear how I think of you. And is not my body, but I am your boyfriend and my thought is important, too. I do get vote."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes in a manner that disturbed Viktor even further. Did she think so little of his feelings? "All right," she said in the most resigned voice he'd ever heard. "Cast your ballot, then."

Viktor took a moment to himself to recollect. The thought that she didn't care how he felt really did hurt, and this was not the first time since their recent reunion that she had said something – maybe thoughtlessly – that had hurt him in this way. Was this going to become a festering thing? Was this a small thing, or was this a small sign that they were incompatible? He didn't want that to be, but his judgment wasn't sound, particularly not just now as they stood nearly naked in his bedroom. Judgment for that sort of thing was particularly unsound just now.

His hands moved down from her shoulders to hold her own. He looked at the mirror and into her eyes, trying to see past the armor that was suddenly present, and sighed. "For now," he started, perhaps a bit more wearily than he'd meant, "ve can ignore the fact that you think my thoughts and my feelings are not important, or not important sometimes. But ve vill discuss that soon."

He waited a moment for some sort of acknowledgment before he marched forward with his agenda, and in the moment of silence between them, Viktor watched as the armor faltered, then fell. Her brow furrowed and though his eyes didn't leave hers he could tell that she swallowed hard before trying to speak.

"Viktor, I…" she trailed off before trying again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. And what I said… I _do_ care what you think, Viktor. And I _do_ care how you feel. I suppose I'm just… I'm just _annoyed_. With myself. I mean, I know I'm supposed to love myself, and love my body, and think that I'm a beautiful, strong, powerful woman, and all of that – and that's all well and good for when I'm getting out of the shower, but when I've got nothing but pants on, and I'm snogging my boyfriend who just happens to be a vision of athletic male beauty… I just… It's a theory that has never had a chance to stand up to adversity."

Viktor looked deeply into her eyes, simultaneously calmed and thrilled at her words. Calmly and slowly he intoned, "I am not your adversary."

A smile slowly grew on her face, reaching up into her eyes. "I know." She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "Viktor," she began in a querying tone, "Would you tell me how you see me? I'd like to know your thoughts on the matter."

Viktor continued to stare deeply into her eyes, sharing a silent moment with her – this one full of comfort and love – and squeezed her hands in his before he trailed his fingers up her arms and back to her shoulders.

***

**End Note:** And that's the end of what I've written in this series. It's incomplete, it's true, but that's what's extant. Thanks for reading. :)


	7. Drabbles

Amazing Bouncing Ferret Universe.

* * *

**Title**: Raiding the Stash  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Pairing/Claim**: VK/HG  
**Rating**: G  
**Prompt**: #13, Gifts  
**Series**: The Amazing Bouncing Ferret  
**Warning**: None  
**Notes**: This takes place two weeks before the Yule Ball, GoF. Hermione's POV.

She had two weeks until Christmas and the Yule Ball, and there needed to be some sort of gift in his future. It was obvious. She needed to knit him something, but what? Socks – socks would be perfect, and she had some good sock wool in her stash, but she had no idea how big his feet were. This would take some subtle investigating. It would probably require two or three times the wool needed to make a house elf a pair of socks (not that a pair was strictly required, according to Dobby). Maybe red – for Durmstrang, for Bulgaria.

* * *

**Title**: A November Sidebar  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Pairing/Claim**: VK/HG  
**Rating**: PG  
**Prompt**: #14, Mentors  
**Series**: The Amazing Bouncing Ferret  
**Warning**: None  
**Notes**: 100 word drabble. This takes place in November, before Ron figures out who Hermione is going to the Ball with. Hermione's POV.

"But he's… a _Durmstrang_. I mean, look at his Headmaster."

"Karkaroff's no Dumbledore, in more ways than one. I mean, yes, he's Viktor's Headmaster, and the curriculum is set in a certain way that favors a more rigorous understanding of the Dark Arts, but it's not like Karkaroff is his mentor, or anything. It's not like how it is with Dumbledore and a certain fourth year I won't mention."

"I don't doubt you, Hermione, and if you say it's alright, I'll believe you. I just… I want to make sure it's okay. That _he's_ okay."

"It really is okay, Harry."

* * *

**Title**: Day One, Fifth Year: Double Potions  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Pairing/Claim:** VK/HG  
**Rating**: PG  
**Prompt**: #15, Potions  
**Series**: The Amazing Bouncing Ferret  
**Warning**: None  
**Notes**: 100 word drabble. This takes place on the first day of Potions, OofP, Hermione's POV.

Ron's sharp nudge brought her out of her daydream of strong arms and a sweet Eastern accent. It was a happy place, where she had been; a place of fearless flying, long drawn-out kisses, crisp mountain air and the bright sun of summer. Though she thought highly of this class, the Hogwarts dungeon had nothing on the mountains south of Vratsa.

Her professor skulked by, staring at her as he lectured, trying to find fault, but all she could do was stare at his long, hooked nose thinking that it looked wrong somehow, as it hadn't been broken several times.

* * *

**Title**: Crystal Stalin  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Pairing/Claim:** VK/HG  
**Rating**: PG  
**Prompt**: #37, Chores  
**Series**: The Amazing Bouncing Ferret  
**Warning**: None  
**Notes**: 100 word drabble. This takes place before the first task, GoF. Viktor's POV.

The figurine shattered, and Viktor swore. Bending down and swiping it up in his hands, he wordlessly repaired it and equally as wordlessly berated himself for daydreaming about a brown-haired British girl instead of paying attention to the cleaning of Karkaroff's stateroom, part of his weekly round of duties. She was terribly intriguing, though. Pretty, wildly intelligent, passionate, and a wonderful partner for conversation, he wondered if she thought of him at all, wondered if she noticed how often he looked at her, trying to get her attention. Maybe he needed to try a –

_Damn_.

He'd broken the figurine again.

* * *

**Title**: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Pairing/Claim**: VK/HG  
**Rating**: R  
**Prompt**: #38, Sleep  
**Series**: The Amazing Bouncing Ferret  
**Warning**: None  
**Notes**: 100 word drabble. This takes place in January, GoF. Viktor's POV.

He woke with a jerk sighing to feel the slick wetness, proof of just how satisfying his dream had been. A half-asleep _Evanesco_ made him clean enough.

He relaxed back onto his pillow, grinning to think of the images so recently playing in his mind. Her shirt had been unbuttoned and her school skirt hiked up around her hips. Oddly, they were underneath the Quidditch pitch in Vratsa and she'd been whispering the loveliest things into his ear, nibbling as she went. Toward the end she'd been chanting his name, as those who loved him said it: _Vitya, Vitya, Vitya._

* * *

**Title**: Hands Safely In Pockets  
**Author**: Sare Liz  
**Pairing/Claim**: VK/HG  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Prompt**: #39, Hands  
**Series**: The Amazing Bouncing Ferret  
**Warning**: None  
**Notes**: 100 word drabble. This takes place early December, GoF. Viktor's POV.

He walked across the grounds, covertly watching some couples walk to the town together. When they weren't being yelled at for it, some of them would have a hand in the back pocket of the jeans of their partner, essentially grabbing their arse.

Could he do that?

No, Karkaroff would kill him. And if Karkaroff didn't, and his mother heard of it, she would kill him. And if neither of them killed him, there was always the possibility that Hermione herself might hex his hand off, or something he'd miss even more.

Viktor wondered how one tactfully made that request.


End file.
